


Til the Cows Come Home

by itsmylifekay, WhatTheBodyGraspsNot



Series: I'll love you in the cornfields, I'll love you in the hay; I'll love you back in Brooklyn where my heart still loves to stay [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, RPF, Skinny Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:29:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot/pseuds/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve loves his town. He loves the people, the narrow streets and faded houses. He loves the scraggly weeds that spring up in the sidewalk cracks and trundle into driveways. This place is his home and he loves every square inch of it.</p><p>That is, until a certain city-slicker rolls into the picture and throws Steve’s world upside down.</p><p>--+--</p><p>Everything Bucky knows, he’s learned from the streets of Brooklyn. So why...why he had to be dragged from those bustling streets and dropped here, in the middle of fucking nowhere, is a mystery to him. Because Pukesville (he refuses to call it anything else) is shitty. This house that they’re holed up in is shitty. Everything about this situation is goddamn shitty and nothing can convince him otherwise.</p><p>Until he meets Steve Fucking Rogers.</p><p>(“If you’re not interested in pig’s balls, then you’re not cut out to read this fic to be perfectly fucking honest.” a story by itsmylifekay and whatthebodygraspsnot)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: home is where the heart is

 

Few people will ever feel what it’s like to stand in the middle of the street as the sun comes up and have the world wake up around them. But for Steve, it’s one of his favorite things.

He loves to crawl out of bed before the dew has had a chance to even glisten, to stand barefoot on the asphalt and watch the sun rise over the cornfields, to hear the elusive sound of silence before it’s swallowed up by the day. He’ll stand there for as long as he can, until his mom leans out the window and calls him in for breakfast.

There’ll be oatmeal on the stove and a bowl of raisins on the table and Steve will go to the fridge to get out the orange juice, grab a couple of glasses from the cupboard. They’ll sit down for breakfast and listen as their small town comes to life.

Their across the street neighbor, Mr. Milark, will be opening all of his windows with a bang to herald in the new day with fresh air and a shouted hello to anyone who passes. The family next door will be readying their children for school, the husband shepherding them to the bus stop while the mother slips brown-bag lunches into backpacks. And the little old lady who lives catty-corner will be shuffling out onto her porch, settling down in her squeaky old rocker and pulling her disgruntled brown tabby into her lap. He’ll meowl once in distaste then give into her stroking because the Smit’s are walking their dogs and he needs to glare at them from on high.

So yeah, Steve loves his town. He loves the people, the narrow streets and faded houses. He loves the scraggly weeds that spring up in the sidewalk cracks and trundle into driveways. He loves the endless tracts of soybeans and corn that so many others roll their eyes at. ‘Indiana, they say, just a bunch of corn and flat spaces.’ Well Steve will take the corn and flat spaces, thank you very much. Because he knows the smell of freshly tilled soil, the hope of rain and mild weather and watching green grow, the sound of golden stalks rustling in the wind. He’s ridden through sleeping fields and heard the crunch of frosty earth beneath a horse’s hooves.

This place is his home and he loves every square inch of it, has had it’s dirt beneath his nails from the day he was born and he’ll have it there long past the day he’s been buried beneath it.

\---+---

Everything Bucky knows, he’s learned from the street. Brooklyn, to be exact. He knows which alleyways are safe to duck into, which ones to stay out of, and which ones are only there for those twenty-somethings who’ve wasted their week’s pay in the tavern and are in desperate need for a toilet. Bucky knows this city like the back of his hand--even the parts he’s not particularly fond of. Yes, there might be a few seedy areas that his mother hassles him about staying away from, but it’s home. And if there’s one thing that Bucky loves more than anything in this entire world, it’s his home. Brooklyn.

So why...why he had to be dragged from those bustling streets and dropped here, in the middle of fucking nowhere (“Pikesville,” his mother tells him. “More like Pukesville,” he corrects with a childish scowl…), is a complete mystery to him. There’s nothing for him here. Fucking nothing. He’s not even sure what these people do.

That’s not true. He knows exactly what these people do. Fucking stand around in their Betty Crocker aprons and dish out apple pie like they’re straight out of a Disney movie, is what they do. And yeah, apple pie is great and all, but Bucky would love to walk down the street without the town’s welcoming committee showering him with shit they just pulled out of the oven. Like clockwork.

“I think they’re delightful,” Bucky’s mother grins, closing the front door with her foot after saying her thanks to the next door neighbor.

Bucky can only guess that the tin in her hands is none other than another fucking. apple. pie. His answer comes in the form of a grunt and an eyeroll. And he’s pretty sure he’s acting like he did in grade-school again, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Because Pukesville is shitty. This house that they’re holed up in is shitty. Everything about this situation is goddamn shitty and nothing can convince him otherwise.

“Why don’t you go for a walk? Explore a little?” His mother suggests, and he can already hear that Betty-Crocker-tinge beginning to slip into her tone.

But he does go out, grabbing his leather jacket before wrenching the door open. Because if there’s one thing he’s learned from Brooklyn, it’s how to start shit.

 

 


	2. WTF with the pie

 

** Chapter One: **

 

The thing about Pukesville is, there aren’t really any dark alleys to duck into. There aren’t any seedy parts that mothers warn their children to stay away from. About as intense as it gets, Bucky realizes ten minutes into trying to find trouble, is that Mr. Milark made a blackberry pie today instead of apple.

He’s almost certain he’s not going to be able to start any interesting shit until one catcall goes perfectly wrong, a boyfriend (or brother) comes swinging, and then Bucky’s elbow deep in a good old fashion fist fight. Just like the good ol’ days.

Except, it’s not like the good ol’ days. Because it comes to a screeching halt before he can lay more than a few good blows to this guy’s face. Bucky wants to die from laughter when he realizes that it’s the fucking town priest that pulls the guy away from him. It _would_ be. It _would_ be the town priest.

The guy stumbles away, completely outraged by this city-slicker’s gall while the priest’s going on and on with some bullshit about how physical violence is a gateway to damnation or something, but Bucky’s too busy tasting blood--flicking his tongue out to glide across the break in his bottom lip. He’s got to admit, it feels like home.

He’s about to be on his way when the priest catches him--literally grabs him by the shirt collar like this is some movie from the 50’s and _drags_ him down the street.

“Are you hand-delivering me to Hell?” Bucky grins because damn, that was actually pretty good.

The priest doesn’t find it nearly as funny as he does. “While the actions you chose to take today brought you to this point, I am obligated to point you to the proper place for treatment, as you’re most likely not yet familiar with Pikesville.”

Bucky scowls, “Treatment?”

“Medical.”

And Bucky doesn’t really have much say in the matter at this point, being dragged along like a poorly behaved schoolboy. For once, he’s thankful for how truly tiny this town is, because before he knows what’s going on, he’s being thrust through the door of a house, down some stairs, and then sat onto a bed that’s a lot less comfortable than it looks.

Bucky blinks, wonders how the hell he got here, notices the telltale smell of sweet oatmeal wafting down the carpeted steps. The room itself is good sized, a few beds staggered across the wall that holds paintings every few feet. The one next to the bed he’s currently occupying is of a horse. Mid-gallop.

Wow. How exciting.

“Oh! You must be one of the new folks that just moved in.”

Bucky tenses, caught off guard by the motherly tone that tears his attention away from that really captivating (augh) horse painting.

The woman approaching him is definitely a mom--hair curled and lips done up with this sort of apple-red shade that reminds Bucky of the Mustangs that used to drive past his block in Brooklyn.

“Uh, yeah,” he offers when he remembers that speaking is usually a requirement when someone asks you a question, “Bucky. Just came here with my mom.”

The woman smiles, warm and sweet and actually not at all like the other godforsaken Cheshire Cat smiles he’s seen in this town. She bends down a little to get a better look at his busted lip, a scrutinizing look-over. “Well, I’m Sarah Rogers. And I double as mother and makeshift doctor around here.”

Bucky allows himself a half grin, his lip burning from the exertion. “Makeshift?”

“Well we’re pretty far away from the hospital. And believe it or not, people aren’t exactly willing to drive two hours to get a band aid.” She pats his shoulder, straightening before turning toward the stairs and calling, “Steve!”

Bucky nods, figures that makes a whole hell of a lot of sense, tries not to glance back at that stupid horse painting but he feels like it’s staring at him.

“Sorry sweetie, I’ve got something in the oven,” Mrs. Rogers coos, headed toward the stairs. “My son will be right down to patch you up.”

Bucky bites down the urge to scoff. Of course she has something in the oven. _Everyone_ has something in the oven around here--bakery item or otherwise. God why is he even here again?

His internal monologue is interrupted rather rudely by the sound of light footsteps trotting down the stairs, a shift in the room’s temperature, and then one steady hand lifting his chin.

Bucky startles, eyes immediately fixing onto the pale blue eyes that lean in and then graze over his busted lip. Jesus Christ, give a guy some warning. “Can I fucking help you?”

The boy in front of him doesn’t seem too affected by Bucky’s knee-jerk sass, instead opting to draw his eyebrows together in concentration before pulling away and walking towards the medicine cabinet by the window.

Bucky frowns, eyes trailing over the truly scrawny boy before him. Thank God he’s only got a busted lip and doesn’t need to be lifted or repositioned anywhere. This poor kid would probably keel over or break something important if that were the case. Christ…

Then this guy-- _Steve_ , he can only assume--is back in front of him, leaning in once again as he lifts a rag to Bucky’s face and gently wipes the blood from his lip. Bucky scowls, watching as that look of concentration slowly filters out into one of silent judgement.

Bucky knows that look. “He was asking for it,” he mumbles against the rag, even if his explanation is probably the farthest thing from the truth. That’s something else he learned quickly in Brooklyn: how to cover your ass.

It only takes a second, and then the kid’s grip on Bucky’s jaw tightens a little, clearly annoyed. “Don’t move, please.”

“Oh, so you _do_ talk.”

But the only response he gets is the rag’s determined chase after Bucky’s mouth as he continues to jabber on.

“So what’s there to do in this shit-hole town besides eat pie?”

As soon as he says it, he receives one of the most passive aggressive glares he’s ever seen in his life. And that’s saying something.

But that’s all. No retaliation. No shit-talk. Nothing.

“You know, your bedside manner could really use some wor--OW!” Bucky reels back, away from those bony hands and the unnecessary pressure that probably didn’t do any actual harm to his lip, but still hurt like hell.

And this kid, this _Steve_ , he’s got this incredible look of amused defiance that has Bucky pretty pissed off, but not enough to miss the not so subtle intrigue that it sparks in his gut.

“There’s plenty to do,” Steve says, calm and neutral, but now he’s grinning like he’s got the world’s best secret tucked safely away in his back pocket.

And then he throws the bloody rag in the sink and hops back up the stairs without another word.

And Bucky...Bucky just kind of sits there, not really sure what his insides are doing. But his bottom lip is still pulsing with the remnants of pain, and maybe this is the most exciting thing that’s happened to him since moving to this godforsaken place--coming into contact with this Steve guy.

Even if he is a little shit.

 

\---+---


	3. General Burnside strikes back

**Chapter Two:**

 

Two days after the new city-slickers come rolling into town Steve still isn’t impressed. His mama’s always told him to love his neighbors and not judge people, but she’s also taught him how to not take shit from anybody else. And that’s certainly what he feels like he’s getting: shit. Not from the mom, no, Mrs. Barnes seems like a real sweet lady, but the son is another matter entirely. _Bucky._ Bucky Barnes. And you’d think with a name like that there’d be at least a little less big city sass and a little more...something else. Anything else, really.

But no, that jerk had come stumbling into his mom’s makeshift office not even twenty-four hours after he’d arrived with a split lip and eyes screaming rebellion and trouble. (Turns out he punched Clark Robertson over a girl.)

And, if that wasn’t bad enough, there’s been reports of him grumbling and glaring at people who came over to drop off casseroles and pies. He’d said _no thanks_ to a fresh piece of Mrs. Johnson’s blueberry cobbler. And Steve just really wants to know who the hell this kid thinks he is.

“Jackass of a city slicker is what he is,” Steve grumbles to himself. He’s currently up in a tree so there’s no chance of anyone hearing him, so he keeps going as he pushes away some branches. “Thinks he’s better just cuz he’s used to more traffic.”

“Did you say something, dear?” Mrs. Mayweather calls from below. She’s waiting at the foot of the ladder with an anxious expression, knitted shawl pulled tight around her shoulders and squinting up into the tree as if she can actually see more than a foot in front of her. (She’s a real nice woman, makes everyone sweaters and hats and scarves come winter, but she’s nearly blind as a bat.)

“No,” Steve yells back. “Just seeing if General Burnside feels ready to get down.” The cat in question looks at him balefully and licks its paw, completely unamused and in no hurry of moving. Which, be that as it may, Steve is very much so ready to get down and that cat is coming with him like it or not. There’s a storm coming within the hour and like hell is Steve pulling him down in the rain.

“Alright,” he huffs, hanging his stomach over the edge of the ladder and preparing to lunge. General Burnside glares at him as if reading his mind and flicks his tail, letting out a hiss and a yowl when Steve finally springs forward and gets a hold of him. Claws go into his arms and chest and he manages only two rungs down the ladder before a particular swipe to his face has him off-balance and tumbling the rest of the way down.

(And he just knows he going to be hearing about this from his mama.)

He lands on his back with an _oof_ and gets a cat-butt in the face as General Burnside saunters casually from his chest like he’s some kind of throw rug and not the man who just saved him from a watery torment.

Mrs. Mayweather, however, comes immediately to his side and then someone’s pulling at him and he’s in the air, hefted like a rag doll into their arms. He blinks owlishly- because when did someone else get here? -and maybe he fell a little harder than he thought cuz _fuck_ his head hurts like hell...

“So is this what you meant when you said there’s plenty to do in this shit hole of a town? Because if this is what you had in mind, I think I’d rather go get three thousand pie-offers as I walk down the street.”

Steve glares at the man holding him, none other than the recently infamous Bucky Barnes, and tries to wiggle down from his arms. Because he may be scrawny and slightly concussed, but he’d _crawl_ his way home before letting Bucky have the upper hand.

But Bucky just adjusts his hold and keeps walking. “Christ, how did you not break in half? What are you...like fifty pounds?”

“I’m ninety-five you _asshole_ ,” Steve hisses. And fuck unfairly strong people because Bucky didn’t even bat an eye at his struggling. So he pushes at his chest instead. “Now let me down before you pull something.”

“Wow, ninety-five, _excuse_ me.” Bucky rolls his eyes, clearly not impressed. (Steve wishes he’d fudged and gone with an even hundred.) “If you wanna hobble all the way home like you’ve got a stick up your ass, that’s fine by me. I’m only here because Mrs. Whatserface called me.”

“Mrs. Mayweather.” Steve corrects, finally squirming himself to freedom and landing with both feet on the ground. He looks up in triumph, ignoring Bucky’s obnoxiously amused expression to his right, then goes to take the first step... And ends up nearly faceplanting into the ground, kept upright only by a firm arm across his chest.

“Yeah, you’re definitely ready to walk on your own. Look at you go.” Bucky says. And if Steve wasn’t so busy trying not to puke as he’s lifted back up into Bucky’s arms he’d be tempted to punch him. “Did you also plan on carrying that cat over to Mrs. Whatserface? Because I’m not sure you could’ve handled that without my help too.”

“Shut up.” Steve groans. Because he’s really not in the mood and his head has reached the point of throbbing in time with each of Bucky’s steps and it’s making it hard to focus. “Just get me to my house.”

“Whatever you say, pal.”

Mercifully, everything goes quiet after that. It’s just the sound of his breaths hitting Bucky’s shoulder and the tap of converse against the pavement.

(And maybe he’s imagining things but it feels like Bucky’s trying to walk gentler too.)

They reach his house and the screen door bangs behind them, a sound he doesn’t recover from until they’re already in the lower level where his mom keeps all her supplies and Bucky’s lowering him down onto a bed. He feels like an idiot, tiny and small and all of the things he hates feeling, the things he punches people for implying. But there’s nothing he can do about it because, like some big cosmic joke, he’s now indebted to Bucky Jackass-City-Slicker Barnes.

Figuring he should say thanks, he lifts his head and starts to open his mouth. But Bucky had been reaching forward to check him or something because suddenly his head meets Bucky’s hand and pain blooms behind his eyes. “ _Shit_ ,” he groans, leaning back and holding his head in his hands like that will somehow help. It doesn’t. But he keeps doing it anyway.

“Sorry. This isn’t exactly my forte, here.” Bucky chuckles but it sounds more forced than anything. “I’m usually the one who gives the headache, not the one who has to fix it.”

Steve squints up at him through his fingers then sighs. “Wonderful. Just-” He points to the side of the room. “Washcloth, ice, Tylenol. Washcloth is under the sink, ice in the freezer box, and Tylenol is in the cabinet above. Go.”

Bucky mutters something indecipherable under his breath, but lifts himself and follows the orders anyway. “Jesus...someone’s snappy.”

That one Steve can hear. And he vows to puke on Bucky’s shoes should the need arise. “Just get the stuff, Barnes.” He bites back. Because if he doesn’t get pain medication within the next five minutes he’s not going to be responsible for his actions.

“Your wish is my fucking command,” Bucky rolls his eyes, seemingly too busy rummaging through the cabinet to deliver much more sass than that.

Steve glares at him from his spot marooned on the bed and grabs the stuff from him as soon as he’s within reach. Sweet salvation is at hand and like hell is he going to give Bucky the chance to pull it away in another joke. He swallows the pill dry and dumps the ice in the washcloth before putting it to the back of his head, realizing too late that he probably should've checked back there for cuts. Whatever. He can wash the towel if he needs to.

“So,” he finally says, letting his back hit the wall and keeping one hand behind his head. The other he uses to push some hair out of his eyes. “Your work is done. Congratulations. You’re free to go.”

“I dunno…” Bucky raises his eyebrows, “Last time I let you do your own thing, you almost died.”

“I did not almost _die,”_ Steve growls. He’d been dizzy is all. Given time he would’ve made it home just fine...definitely. Then, feeling the need to say something else just for the sake of things- not because he’s fucking embarrassed or anything, he turns his head and mutters, “Not that you’d care anyway.”

Bucky blinks at him, and for one sacred moment, he doesn’t speak. Just looks at him as he leans back, his lips pressed into a firm line. Then something must happen, because he’s back to that jackass-city-slicker attitude. Like whatever had been dancing around in his head, whatever he was _going_ to say, gets washed away entirely. “Okay well...you took care of me, so… I guess I’m obligated to take care of you.”

And fuck that’s right, he _had_ taken care of Bucky’s split lip. Sorta. Meaning he doesn’t have any debts and his soul can once again be free of guilt as he glares at Bucky and says, “Debt repaid. You can go.”

That lingers there for a moment, stretching between them. And then Bucky just nods, glancing away. “What if you died or something? Passed out from your headache or...or whatever. Then that’d be on my hands.” And it definitely sounds like he’s trying to reason with himself - like Steve isn’t even in this conversation anymore.

“Pretty sure it’d be on my own hands, since I’m the one with any medical experience in the room. And the one who had to go up and get that stupid cat.” Steve can picture it now, General Burnside all curled up with a dish of milk, smirking to himself because he _knows_ what Steve’s going through and because it had been his plan the entire time. General Burnside is diabolical like that. Steve wouldn’t put it past him.

“Yeah fine. But I’m the one who carried your scrawny ass all the way from Mrs. Whatserface’s house--”

“Mayweather.” Steve interrupts

Bucky continues regardless. “--so now you’re my problem.” And then, like a verbal confirmation to himself. “I’m staying.”

He settles on the bed next to Steve’s and pulls out his phone, mumbling something about shitty towns not having any fucking wifi, then goes silent as he scrolls through whatever he’s found to amuse himself until...eventually. Whenever his mom gets home probably.

But Steve wasn’t born yesterday, and as he sits and stares around the room he doesn’t miss the way Bucky’s eyes occasionally flash his way, assessing him like a stack of cans in danger of toppling over.

It’s disconcerting in the way that it’s also entirely endearing. Because who knew Bucky Barnes could actually _care_?

And Bucky would always be a city slicker in Steve’s eyes...but maybe he wasn’t a complete jackass on top of it all.

“You know what’s great for that headache?” Bucky asks out of the blue, still scrolling through his phone. “Jack Daniels.” And then he settles back into the bed a little more, clearly proud of his medical advice.

“Yeah,” Steve snorts. “Head injuries and alcohol. Great idea.”

Maybe not a jackass. But still an idiot.

“Yeah yeah…never stopped me.”

He says it with a certain smugness in his voice that has Steve rolling his eyes. But he can’t help but respect him for it either, because Bucky knows what he wants, does what he wants, and come hell or high water he’s going to do it.

Which, well, Steve might have a soft spot for people like that.

He glances at Bucky from the corner of his eye and takes in the way he’s slouched haphazardly across the thin blue mattress, tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he taps at his screen. Then, his eyes are flicking up and meeting Steve’s and a grin splits his face...and his recently broken lip. He lets out a curse and Steve chuckles quietly to himself.

Definitely an idiot.

\---+---


	4. One Corn to Rule Them All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is [whatthebodygraspsnot's](whatthebodygraspsnot.tumblr.com) birthday!! so go over and wish her a great one!!! ^_^ LOVE YOU BRO<3

** Chapter 3 **

 

 

If there’s one thing in this world that Bucky will never forget, it’s the cripplingly awkward feeling of having Mrs. Rogers come home, welcomed by the sight of him and Steve practically in each other’s space on one of the medical beds. And then there’s that simply delighted smile that lights up her entire face when she suggests that he stay over for dinner.

And between the dread of having to put on a polite front for dinner and the light blush that maybe graces his cheeks when Steve squirms away, their legs brushing against each other on the mattress, Bucky has to wonder why this woman isn’t concerned that her son is lying in bed with a bag of quickly melting ice pressed to his head. Does this shit seriously happen so much that it’s become commonplace in the Rogers household? One glance at Steve’s fragile frame suggests that that’s probably true.

But oh, the look on Steve’s face when she tells Bucky to stay for some corn casserole that will be done in just a short while, it’s priceless--a sort of deer in the headlights look that only compliments the way he stiffens beside him.

And Bucky can’t exactly say no, right? These people had helped him (no matter how unnecessary it may have been), and Bucky may be an asshole. But he’s not _that_ kind of an asshole. So he smiles. Nods. Says, “That’d be great,” with his best good-boy impression, if not to convince Mrs. Rogers, then just to see the way Steve brings a hand up to run across his face in what he can only assume is dread.

Bucky doesn’t understand what the dread is for until they’re two minutes into dinner, corn casserole and salad and potatoes and a chunk of bread all sitting nicely on his plate waiting to be devoured. Because that’s when the talking starts.

It’s about corn.

All of it.

Every single fucking topic that comes up somehow comes full circle and makes it’s way back to being about corn.

Bucky could mention how the Queen of England’s dog just died, or some shit like that, and Mrs. Rogers would find a way to make it corn-related. It’s goddamn mind boggling.

The only thing saving Bucky from drowning himself in mashed potatoes are all of the faces that Steve is pulling across the table. The slow blink of _okay Mom, let’s wrap it up here_ , to the clenched jaw of _really? we’re really gonna talk about that?_ to the obvious eye roll that makes its debut right around the time that his mother equates the new Batman movie to how fantastic this crop’s yield is, isn’t it sweetheart?

Bucky finds it all really fucking amusing. Because Steve’s doing his job for him. He doesn’t even need to get annoyed with the crop talk because he just has to look at Steve’s fucking priceless face and then he’s good for another round of: “Well I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Pikesville is known for it’s corn crop--” and Steve says, “Yes, Mom. He knows that. Everyone knows that.”

It’s pretty cute - er, funny. Yeah, that’s what Bucky meant. The way Steve seems so disgruntled by everything that’s happening is pretty funny.

“Your son fell from a tree today,” Bucky mentions casually, helping himself to some more casserole (that’s actually really good). And he can just feel the pointed glare being shot his way from across the table.

“You did?” Mrs. Rogers says, but doesn’t seem all that worried. Probably because Steve’s right there, shoveling as much mashed potatoes in his mouth as possible as she turns her attention toward him. “And why were you in a tree?”

“He was getting a cat down,” Bucky offers before Steve has a chance to swallow. “Cat’s fine. Steve’s a little banged up.”

Mrs. Rogers glances toward her son, that slight motherly worry now apparent in her eyes. “How’d you get back here?”

“Yeah Steve,” Bucky says, feigning interest as he straightens in his chair. “How _did_ you get back here?”

Steve sends a glare his way and says, “Bucky helped,” in a tone so clipped Bucky’s honestly pretty impressed.

Mrs. Rogers seems impressed too. With Bucky, that is. “Well isn’t that kind of you!”

“Mhm,” Bucky grins, “Very kind.” Because mostly he’s just getting a kick out of Steve’s face all over again.

“ _So_ kind.” Steve echoes. “A real saint.”

Mrs. Rogers is beside herself with happiness. Bucky is just really fucking amused.

And that way Steve just glares at him, grip way tighter on his fork than really necessary...that’s pretty cute--goddamn it. Funny. It’s funny.

They only have to suffer through three more corn-related stories before Bucky’s plate is empty, stomach full, and Mrs. Rogers shoos them away from the table so she can clean. Bucky is just internally jumping for joy that he doesn’t have to help clean up. Scrubbing corn casserole out of a pan is not on his to-do list tonight. Actually, he doesn’t have _anything_ on his to-do list tonight. And that’s mega boring...so…

“Alright, Steve,” he says, “Mr. Ninety-Five Pounds of Sass. What are we doing now?” Because God knows he has no idea how to entertain himself in this godforsaken place. And Steve’s now earned his place as the small town veteran in Bucky’s books. So…

“Well, _I’m_ going to go into the other room and sit.” He shoots Bucky a look, lets him sweat a while, before adding. “But you can join me if you want.”

Bucky doesn’t admit to himself that he may or may not have just felt the awkward sting of a brush-off, instead deciding to combat it with sarcasm. “That sounds so exciting. Really. I wish I could have known we were gonna be doing that so I could have prepared.” It’s...kind of hard for him not to be a dick sometimes… “Don’t you guys go cow-tipping or some bullshit like that?”

“Cow-tipping is for people with nothing better to do than break the law. If you’re feeling tempted, feel free to help my mom with the dishes.” Steve’s voice has gotten progressively softer but angrier at the same time. “Or we could paint a fence like Tom Sawyer and give you the real small town experience. That’s what you’re waiting for isn’t it?”

Bucky frowns. He’s not going to give Steve the satisfaction of knowing that such a reference is lost on his Brooklyn ass. “I’m just waiting for something not extremely fucking boring to do.”

“Watch your mouth.” Steve hisses. “My mother is in the other room and she doesn’t need to hear your trash. If you want something to do, sit down and shut up. Otherwise, you can get walking.”

Bucky fights the urge to swear some more. Or roll his eyes. Or do anything that Darling Precious Steve would look down on him for. But there’s still that little nugget of excitement that blossoms deep in his chest at every snarky word that snaps out of this kid’s mouth. “Do you really want me to leave?”

He figures if Steve _actually_ hates him, now would be a great time to get it out of the way. To _know_. And then he can move on and try not to think about this stupid ninety-five pounds of sass that walked into his life.

But Steve just kind of fidgets for a moment before softly saying, “No, I don’t- I didn’t mean to offend you, Buck. I just get a little hot-headed. And you’ve not exactly been a peach...”

Buck. _Buck_. He just fucking called him Buck, and that’s probably better than any straight answer he could have gotten. “Okay well. I guess I’m a dick too. And you’re welcome for saving your ass today, by the way--”

“You wish you could save my ass…” Steve grumbles, so quietly Bucky’s not even sure he heard it.

He does. He hears it loud and clear.  “Alright, punk. Next time you go fallin’ out of trees, don’t expect me to come running.” But he’s smiling. A real smile. Something that he hasn’t done since leaving Brooklyn.

“Fine, then don’t expect to be treated to any more of my mom’s cooking. And you don’t get any of her chocolate cream pie either.” And Steve’s smiling too, wide and teasing, with just enough of a serious edge to still give Bucky that tingly feeling in his gut.

It’s weird--this feeling lurking around in his stomach. It’s fluttery but heavy and it makes Bucky either want to reel forward and smack Steve right across the face or maybe stop, just short of that contact, and finish the rest of the way with his lips (God, it’s so dumb).

But it’s the feeling that urges him to do whatever the hell Steve wants for the rest of the night. The feeling that convinces him to stay a little longer after Mrs. Rogers’s chocolate cream pie and coffee, sitting with Steve on the porch long after the lights in the house have been dimmed and Mrs. Rogers has retired to her room.

It’s the feeling that makes Bucky think: yeah, Pukesville fucking sucks. A lot. It’s cramped and it’s too friendly and it’s _definitely_ not Brooklyn. But he’s finding things about it that maybe make it not so awful.

He’s sent home with a fresh corn casserole the next morning, because they’re young and they’re dumb and they fall asleep on the porch swing, gliding lazily against the night.

 

\--+---


	5. A Rogers Family Dinner

** Chapter Four **

 

It’s another beautiful summer’s day and Steve is sprawled out in the grass staring up at the sky. A cloud floats by that looks suspiciously like a cat and he glances towards Mrs. Mayweather’s house, checking to be sure General Burnside is still sitting on his perch far, far away from where Steve is vulnerable on his back. (He might still be harboring bad feelings about last Thursday. It’s a possibility.)

But not _all_ of last Thursday had been bad...admittedly, some of it had even been kind of nice. His mom’s never as happy as she is meeting a new person, cooking for people, getting to feed them pie and tell them all about the town she’s called home since she was a girl- so getting to do all four at once with Bucky had been like a dream come true.

And Bucky had been surprisingly cooperative, not an angel by any means, there had been quite a few times Steve was tempted to punch him across the table, but he’d at least stuck it out until the end. (And past it, really. He’ll never forget waking up with his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Or the way the other boy had looked as the sun came up over the railing.)

He has to remind himself not to get attached or... _interested..._ because Bucky’s made it clear he doesn’t like it here. First chance he gets, he’ll be packed up and moved to Brooklyn in the blink of an eye. Steve’s under no illusions on that front. But Bucky is _nice_ (ish) and admittedly kind of nice looking, too. So Steve’s struggling more than he’d like to admit with the whole keeping-his-feelings-firmly-in-the-uninterested-category goal he’d set for himself when he first saw Bucky’s lazy smile and overconfident way of walking down the street.

And nothing can erase the fact that Bucky is from the _city,_ that foreign place of empty promises Steve’s read about in books and seen on TV. That place that’s made people think small towns like Pikesville are nothing but ants underfoot.

So he’s taking this- this _friendship_ (if that’s what it is) with Bucky one step at a time. One inch at a time if he’s honest.

But it’s not really helping that his mother’s asked Bucky over for dinner again. It’s great, sure, that she’s found someone to be excited about and has taken over the kitchen with a new kind of vigor, but Steve still has his reservations.

(He’s also a little bit nervous as to the possibility of his mother having ulterior motives -as mother’s are wont to do- regarding him and Bucky.)

He hasn’t had a real friend his own age since...practically ever. So he’s not surprised that many of the mentions of inviting Bucky for dinner come with the tagline _‘just think, Steve, you two could be closer than two peas in a pod._

Which, actually...he takes a closer look at the way the sun has started its descent in the sky and realizes dinner might be closer than he’d thought. He’s somewhat surprised his mother hasn’t already called him in. Grass is poking him through his shirt and he’s pretty sure there’s a rock in his side and he has no idea where the time’s gone.

The thought of going in no sooner crosses his mind than a shadow falls over him and a familiar Brooklyn accent is saying, “Time to wash up, little guy. God knows what kinda shit you’ve been rolling around in out here…”

“Nothing but the dirt God made us in.” Steve grumbles back, pushing himself up from the ground and dusting off his knees. They start walking towards the house and Steve chances a look at the way Bucky’s shirt is stretched around his biceps. “My ma sent you then?”

“That she did. Because _someone_ didn’t have the nerve to ask me himself.” Bucky grins, over dramatic in his tone as always.

But Steve is prepared. “You wouldn’t invite your mom’s friend over for dinner, would you?” He asks, keeping his expression carefully blank. “So why would I ask you? If she wants to have you over she can ask you herself.”

Bucky’s pace slows by a hair, his eyebrows knitting together. Like he’s trying to decipher just what Steve is trying to say. “Are you jealous of my relationship with your mother, Steven?” But it doesn’t contain that trademark snark that Steve’s come to expect.

Steve, however, has no such compunction. “The original Mr. Rogers has been gone for years. Spots open and it’s not my place to say who gets it. You interested?” He has to fight back the taste of bile at saying such things about his mother but it’s worth it to see the horrified look on Bucky’s face. (It might not be obvious, but it’s there. It’s in his eyes and Steve’s in his glory.)

Bucky doesn’t speak for a good minute, eyes trained everywhere but the boy walking next to him. Then he sort of clears his throat a little, caught between this obvious need to pretend and the need to be serious for once. “Not interested,” he says. Then, with a little more bravery, “How about the friend spot. Is that open?”

Steve shrugs. “Ma can be friends with whoever she chooses.”

“No, I mean.” Bucky trails off like he’s not sure where to pull his words from. Then he says, “Your friend.”

And Steve relents, deciding to give Bucky a break for once. “It’s a possibility. You wanting to apply?”

“I’ve got my foot in a few doors...figured I’d try out for this one too.”

Steve shoots him a look, not impressed. Back to hardball then. “I’m an all or nothing kind of guy, Buck. You’re in or you’re out, don’t straddle the threshold.”

Bucky smirks, back in his element. “Listen, pal. I’m not talking about any straddling. I’m talking being friends. Unless that’s what friends do in Pukesville.”

“ _Pikes_ ville,” Steve corrects and rolls his eyes. “And you wish.” They’ve reached the steps to the house and Steve leads the way to the door, bounding up the sagging wooden porch and pulling open the screen door. He waits until Bucky’s right next to him, passing into the house, to stop him and say, “About the friend spot…” Bucky goes still and Steve swallows down his nerves, looks up at Bucky through his lashes because he can’t quite stare him in the face as he says, “You’ve gotta be here to have it so...don’t know if you actually want it or not.”

Bucky doesn’t respond right away, processing and looking a bit like Steve’s struck him over the head with a two-by-four, so Steve takes the opportunity to run and, well, runs with it, all the way to the kitchen where his mom is plating up dinner.

“Hello boys,” His mom says, getting out the silverware and completely unaware of how her very presence is shielding Steve from listening to Bucky’s response.

(And he’s not _really_ running, okay? He’s just...biding his time. Waiting until he is both emotionally and mentally prepared for whatever Bucky’s answer may be.)

And he’s not ready yet.

He’s not ready for the possibility that this jerk from Brooklyn could tell him he still wants to leave.

So he takes the silverware from his mother and goes to set it on the table, arranging everything neatly on their checkered placemats then going to the cupboard to get out the glasses. His mother thanks him for his help as she pours the milk and then they all sit down to eat.

Bucky still hadn’t said a word.

Steve doesn’t know what to think about the sudden absence of snark.

And his mother is happily oblivious as she begins her monologue of the weeks events. Namely, how well the corn crop is doing- and the soybeans too but the _corn_ is particularly good this year. She asks a few times how Bucky’s settling in, if his mother needs help with unpacking or meals ( _uh, no thanks, got enough casseroles in the freezer to last us a month I think)_ , but for the most part both Steve and Bucky are silent.

She picks up on it about three quarters of the way through, right after Steve’s finished up his green beans and has just a bit of his meatloaf and carrots left to go.

“Steve, dear, are you feeling okay?” She leans across the table without waiting for an answer and pushing her hand to Steve’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm but you’ve been awfully quiet.”

“No, ma.” Steve says. “I’m not sick. Just got thinking about things, I guess.”

She purses her lips and turns to Bucky. “Steve gets sick and is always in denial for days about it, won’t get to bed until he passes out in the streets somewhere. But you’re the first one he’s ever let carry h-”

“Ma!” Steve says, blushing desperately and overwhelmed with the urge to bury his face in the tablecloth.

His mom just tuts at him. “Now Steve, there’s nothing wrong with friends helping each other out. Isn’t that right, Bucky?”

Bucky grins at Steve from across the table, not as smug as usual but it’s getting there. (Steve may or may not let out a sigh of relief.) “Nothing wrong at all. It’s what _friends_ are for.”

Steve groans internally and slinks down in his chair as his mother launches into a speech about friendship and ‘helping thy neighbor’ and Steve really just wants to curl up into a ball and die. But the windows are open and he can still see the sun from between the dainty floral curtains his mother loves so much- so there’s still too many hours in the day.

He picks at some of the chipping white paint on the side of his chair as his mother moves from growing in friendship (just like two corn stalks in the field) to some of the things she and her friends had done in their youth. There were stories from high school dances to drives into the city for a night at the theater.

Then, suddenly, she puts down her napkin with a little ‘oh’ and stands up to rifle in the paper pile by the fridge, pulling out an unknown pamphlet and bringing it back to the table. She smoothes it across the faded fabric next to her plate then rotates it in Steve’s direction.

It’s a flyer for the state fair.

His eyes go wide as saucers and he looks up to his mother with poorly contained excitement. “We’re going this year, then? We can go, ma?”

“Unfortunately, Steve, I have work. So we won’t be able go.” Steve’s face falls, but his mother taps the side of her nose and gives him a wink. “But _you_ two can.”

The excitement in his chest turns into something acidic and drooping but his mom continues on, “It’ll be perfect. This way I won’t have to worry about you going by yourself.” He makes a face and his mother doesn’t miss a beat as she adds, “Don’t give me that face, dear. You remember what happened last time, and the incident with the inhaler at the park.” Bucky hides a snort across the table and his mother smiles as she turns back to him, continuing on like nothing happened. “And Bucky gets a chance to experience something new. I bet you boys will have a lot of fun.”

Steve glares at his carrots as if they’ve personally offended him.

Because of fucking course, he just starts thinking that this Bucky kid is okay. They could be friends even, maybe, if everything worked out right. And then the universe has to go and ruin it. And not just ruin it, but completely and epically destroy it.

Because if there’s one thing that Steve loves more than anything in the world it’s the state fair. And here’s his mother telling him to take the city slicker. The _fresh-from-the-city_ city slicker.

The boy was going to see the first cow turd and go running.

It’s a preposterous idea and Steve wants no part in it. He’ll glue his inhaler to his hand if that’s what his mom wants, he’ll call her every half hour. But this...this is worse than hell.

“What’s the state fair?” Bucky asks, craning his neck to look at the flyer and Steve looks up at him like he’s just kicked a baby.

“What’s the state…” He mumbles in disbelief then buries his head in his hands. It was worse than he thought. The stupid city person doesn’t even know what’s happening, doesn’t even know what he’s been missing out on.

And that’s somehow worse than all of the other possibilities combined.

His mother, however, thinks it’s just fabulous. “The state fair is a...gathering. Of all kinds of different people. They show off the things they’ve been working on all year, animals, produce...and people come from all across the state to see.”

Bucky stares at her incredulously. “So you people drive for hours to go see...more corn?”

Steve really wants to punch him.

His mother just laughs. “Well, maybe that’s one way to put it. But there are plenty of other things to do. You’ll love it. I’ll talk to your mother about it tomorrow and arrange a date for you two to drive up to the fairgrounds. Make a day of it.”

Steve can see that his mother has already decided, and Bucky seems at least unopposed, and he can feel the metaphorical lock click around his ankle.

A whole day at the best place on earth with Mr.-I-hate-all-things-rural attached to his hip.

He could only pray the first whiff of fresh manure would send him packing... and leave Steve to enjoy the rest of the day in peace.

 

\---+---


	6. Steve+Bunnies= Absolutely Fucking Adorable

 

** Chapter Five **

 

Bucky’s not exactly sure what he’s expecting after the words “state fair” were repeated again and again across the dinner table a few nights ago, but it’s definitely not this.

It’s not the ridiculously colorful streamers hung brightly between each stand, advertising such atrocities as “fried butter” and “chocolate covered bacon.” (Christ, it’s a wonder these people don’t keel over from a heart attack. He feels one coming on just from walking past and getting that thick, heavy smell of grease stuck in his nostrils.)

He also doesn’t expect all the people...mainly children, running around and getting underfoot and honestly just being fucking pests about everything. (He knocked _one_ girl’s cookie dough ice cream out of her hand. _One_. And it was a goddamn accident, so sue him.)

He especially doesn’t expect the way Steve lights up, face brightening like the Brooklyn skyline as he darts between people, children, animals--really _anything_ that might be in his way because he can’t seem to get where he’s going fast enough.

Bucky can already tell that the animals are Steve’s favorite part of the fair. It might be the way Steve already has his pocket change out to hand to the lady behind the table, his own hand already held out and cupped and ready to receive the animal feed that she pours from a bag. Or it might be the way he doesn’t even wait for Bucky before barreling into the pen, picking out his favorite goat of the bunch and offering his handful of granola or whatever the fuck it is like it’s going to save this goat’s life or something. It might even be the way Steve settles into the corner--lets the ducks all crowd around him, a delighted smile blossoming across his face as one settles it’s feathery butt right down into his lap.

It could be all of it, really. All Bucky knows is it awakens that warm ball of fondness right in the center of his chest and keeps it there, especially when Steve glances up at him, all shimmering eyes and overjoyed smiles--like maybe he wants Bucky to see how much fun he’s having--to join him even.

It’s cute and all, it really is, but Bucky’s not one for feeling up wildlife. So he opts to stay on the outer ring of the pen.

He’s not sure how long he allows Steve to play with the ducks before growing bored. (Probably not that long at all…) But he eventually calls for Steve’s attention, and they move onto the next thing that has Steve over the moon with excitement.

Currently, that thing happens to be haranguing him into eating whatever the _fuck_ has been deep fried and stabbed with a shish kabob stick like that.

“It’s this years _theme_ , Bucky. You have to eat it- it’s practically law.” Steve hops up to the window of the blue, yellow, and white striped trailer and orders _one deep fried oreo, please._ Then he glances back over his shoulder with a smile. “We can even share, it’ll be great.”

But Bucky is...not convinced. Sure, he’s eaten his fair share of crap in his days, but deep fried oreos? Jesus fucking Christ… “That thing’ll kill you, Stevie. You know that, right?”

“I’ve heard that before,” Steve quips, taking the little blue and white checked container from the girl behind the window and jumping back down from the curb. He takes a bite of the first one and makes a show of licking his fingers. “Not dead yet, am I?”

Bucky straightens. No, not yet. But Bucky certainly will be if this punk keeps insisting on licking his fingers like that. “You’re ridiculous. Did you even wash your hands after feeling up that duck?” Because maybe if he can lead the conversation astray, he won’t have to actually eat that...thing...

Steve just levels him with a _look_ and pointedly takes another bite... then licks his fingers again.

And that’s...yeah, that’s going to have to stop. “Alright, fine,” Bucky huffs, snatching the remainder of the cookie from Steve’s grasp and downing it in one bite. “Augh, Jesus Christ.” It’s actually pretty delightful. But he’s sure as fuck not going to tell Steve that.

But Steve seems to know anyway, smiling at him with a smug little grin as he once again leads the way down the crowded street. “And just wait until you try the elephant ears...it’s like cinnamon heaven.” Then, something to their left catches his eye and he’s darting across the street before Bucky can so much as blink.

Bucky just stands there for a second, actually _loses_ Steve’s short little body in the mass of other people (and yes, okay _fine_ , that’s kind of cute too). But then he spots him, dodging a mother with an armful of corn on the cob as he races toward a particular stand. The way too colorful sign hanging above it helpfully reads Lemon Shakeups. If that isn’t obvious enough, the wire baskets suspending from the front of the stand is filled with more lemons than Bucky thinks they probably actually need.

Oh. So that’s what’s got Steve all strung out.

Steve has already purchased a shakeup and is now bounding back towards Bucky, who had only really made it a few steps in the time Steve took to trek across nearly the entire fairgrounds and back.

“Look what I found!” Steve says, shoving the drink practically in Bucky’s face to emphasize his point, apparently too overcome with fair excitement to remain as snarky and aloof as usual. “These are the best. Can’t have a fair without these.” He takes the cup back to take a long sip from the straw then shoves it back in Bucky’s face. “C’mon, city boy.” He says, shaking the plastic container a bit. “Drink up.”

Dodging the excited cup thrust is out of the question at this point, as it’s already almost to Bucky’s fucking mouth as it is. So Bucky simply finishes the transition, sipping some of the cool, sweet liquid as Steve holds it out for him. (It may or may not really hit the spot after that heart-stopping, artery clogging, you’re-probably-going-to-die deep fried oreo.) “Oh shit,” Bucky muses, surprised, “This is actually not horrible.”

“Told ya,” Steve quips back, reclaiming the straw and taking another drink. “You should really listen to me more often. Especially since you have no idea what the fuck you’re doing.” He looks pointedly down at their feet just in time for Bucky to see him neatly dodge some kind of grassy excrement which Bucky himself is not in time to miss. Steve looks entirely too pleased with the development.

He would. He’s a little shit like that. Bucky does his best to recollect himself after his not so valiant trip over a piece of grass. It’s not his fault. “Yeah there’s...not a lot of grass in Brooklyn...” he bullshits before he can get himself to stop talking.

“You do realize that was a horse apple, right?” He lifts an eyebrow then turns a bit to the side, “Though I doubt you have many of those either.”

Bucky stares… Horse… apple… What the fuck is this kid talking about? “No, we don’t.”

“Have you even seen a live horse before?” Steve asks.

“Yes, of course I’ve seen a fucking live horse before, Steve,” Bucky frowns, even if the horse that he’s referencing is the one in the painting in the lower level of Steve’s house.

Steve eyes him knowingly before shaking his head. “That’ll be our next stop then, the horse barn. Can’t have you walking around polluting the air with your uncultured-ness. It’s disgusting.” He glances up at the street corner then takes a resolute right turn. “Try not to get lost again.”

It’s an internal struggle of epic proportions to not roll his eyes. It really is. Because if Bucky is correct, there’s a whole section of this stupid fair with carnival rides. Carnival rides are more his speed. Horse barns? ...not really. (Plus he’s pretty sure there’s a Ferris Wheel right smack dab in the middle of it and if he can somehow manage to get Steve on there. Well...let’s just say the possibilities are endless.)

But no. They’re going to the horse barn.

“Wait up,” Bucky drones, Steve’s body nearly disappearing _again_. But he can’t fight down that smile that’s bubbling up from that stupid warm feeling in his chest. “ _Steve_.”

“ _Bucky_.” Steve whines back. “C’mon, Mr. Brooklyn, I thought crowded streets were part of your element. Don’t want to be an embarrassment to your city-slicker heritage now do you?”

Bucky scoffs. _Scoffs_. “You watch your fucking mouth. I’m the pride and joy of Brooklyn, I’ll have you  know.”

Steve just rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Sure you are. And don’t curse in front of the children, it’s unseemly.”

“ _You’re_ unseemly…” Bucky mutters under his breath, if not because he doesn’t have a better comeback prepared. Which is unusual. They’re nearing the horse pens anyway. So he figures it’s not the worst thing in the world to let Steve win this particular spat.

But Steve ignores him, choosing instead to run through the doors to the horse building and straight to the nearest pen where a light grey monster is nuzzling at the bars. He shoves his tiny hands in before Bucky knows what’s happening and then he’s fucking petting the thing like it’s just someone’s dog and not nearly two heads taller than him.

Bucky, not unlike with every other situation he’s encountered since moving to the middle of nowhere, covers up his inexperience with sass. “I’d like to see you rescue one of _those_ out of a tree.” The mental image is humorous enough to have him chuckling at his own joke. “I’d still have to save you at the end of the day, though.”

“Just ignore the stupid man, Penelope.” Steve says, rubbing the horse on its forehead and whispering like what he’s telling it is a secret. “He’s just a jerk who doesn’t know what he’s saying. Isn’t he? Yes he is.”

“Oh Christ, you named the horse,” Bucky grins, eyes squeezing shut in mock pain, “I don’t think it gets any cuter than that.”

Fuck fuck fuck.

Did he just actually say that out loud?

Steve turns his head slowly like something out of the exorcist. “It’s on the sign.” He explains slowly, finger pointing to the little white board that does in fact read Penelope in looping cursive. “But, more importantly, did you just call me cute? Really?” He turns back to the horse and shakes his head. “I thought you’d do better than that, Barnes.”

Ah shit. Bucky clears his throat. “Yeah well…” Good. What a great fucking start. “S’not my fault.” ...wow. He silently hopes that Steve isn’t going to press him on that. But knowing Steve...

“Told you he was a stupid,” Steve whispers into Penelope’s ear. “And he couldn’t even come up with a proper answer. We must’ve fried what was left of his brains right out of him with our _cuteness,_ didn’t we girl? Didn’t we?” His obnoxious cooing is coupled with his hands going up to wiggle the horses ears. The horse whinnies in response.

And Bucky just wants to crawl up into a ball and fucking die. “‘Kay, are you done, horse whisperer? Can we get a move on here?”

Once again, Steve ignores him, saying his goodbyes to Penelope on his own time (aka really fucking slowly) before moving onto the next pen and repeating the entire sickeningly adorable process all over again. It is apparently Steve’s mission to befriend every single horse in the building.

And all Bucky can do is just stand there, one hand dragging over his face as he groans in impatience. “ _Seriously_ , Steve? Are you fucking _kidding_ me with this?” Because he doesn’t know how long they’ve now spent traipsing around in a disgusting mix of hay and horse shit, but it’s dark out. So by default, it’s been way too long.

By now they are, at least, at the last pen and Steve gives the horse a last nuzzle before stepping back and waving goodbye (the forlorn look on his face has Bucky feeling at least a little guilty but the sentiment ends as soon as Steve opens his mouth.)

“Okay, we can leave. We’re going to the cattle barn next, then there’s the sheep and pigs. And the chickens and bunnies after that. And we still have to see all of the produce too--”

“Um, no we’re fucking not,” Bucky interrupts, putting a hand out to literally stop Steve in his tracks. “We just did a bunch of shit you wanted to do. Now you have to suffer through something for me.”

Steve opens his eyes wide and fixes Bucky with the most pathetic face he’s ever seen. “But don’t you want to see the biggest pumpkin? Or the tallest sunflower? There’s an entire sculpture made out of cheese.”

“No I don’t. And I don’t understand anyone who would.” Although that cheese sculpture does pique his interest just a little.

Steve huffs and drops the act, rolling his eyes as he exits the building. “You’re such a fucking jerk, but fine. What do _you,_ Mr. Grumpy-Pants, want to do?”

Bucky leaves the insult alone, a pointed, Cheshire-Cat-like smirk spreading across his face as he glances down at Steve, who seems to be getting more and more unimpressed by the second. Then Bucky points, up and farther back to the Ferris Wheel--lit up in a rainbow of colors as it spins against the darkness of the night. “That.”

Steve follows the path of his finger and squints. “The Ferris Wheel? Seriously?” He steals the drink back from Bucky’s hand (and he really doesn’t know why he fucking held it for him in the first place) and takes a long, judgmental sip. “Do you want to ride the Merry-go-Round too?”

“No. Can’t risk you throwing up on that one,” Bucky teases, grin still in place. “I feel like the Ferris Wheel is more our speed.” _Your_ speed, would have been the best thing to say. But Bucky isn’t really doing too hot with saying the best things around Steve. It’s the honest things, that slip through his rough Brooklyn exterior.

“Uh huh,” Steve says, eyeing Bucky up and down like that’ll somehow answer the mystery of why Bucky prefers fun things like _rides_ over seeing whatever freakish giant vegetables they’ve got lying around. “Well alright, but that’s basically on the other side of the fairgrounds.”

Bucky blinks at him, unaware of the issue. “...’kay? And?”

“And I can’t walk that long in this heat without aggravating my asthma. So we’ll have to make a few stops along the way.”

Bucky isn’t sure if Steve’s kidding or not. But he supposes he doesn’t have to be a gigantic asshole this one time, so he takes his word for it. (Because they can’t go on the Ferris Wheel if Steve is curled up in a ball somewhere dying.) “Fine, but no more animals,” he declares. And then, as kind of an afterthought: “I should just leave you here to live out the rest of your days with them...”

Steve doesn’t reply, just starts walking off with the same smug little grin on his face that Bucky’s come to simultaneously love and fear.

Contrary to Bucky’s demands, and because he knows Steve’s going to do whatever the fuck he wants anyway, the very first stop they make is at the pig pen. It’s like Steve is doing this just to see Bucky squirm--but on the other hand, there’s that overjoyed and genuine excitement that just rolls off Steve in waves when they stop to see the boars.

(Bucky does _not_ have waves of excitement rolling off of him when he sees the boars. Bucky has waves of _oh jesus christ_ rolling off of him when he sees the boars. Because he could’ve lived the rest of his life without ever having to see the truly monstrous balls that these little fuckers waddle around with. He doesn’t make his qualms known to Steve. He just kind of watches...from afar…)

He thinks they’re finally ready to hit the Ferris Wheel when Steve hums to himself, muttering something about going through the produce building because the bathrooms are fucking inconveniently located in the back of it.

Steve doesn’t even go--just takes his time perusing through the fresh produce like he’s actually going to buy something. Bucky doesn’t sigh. He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t even entertain those thoughts of impatience. He just ducks away to buy the reddest, shiniest apple he can find and then gives it to Steve, an eyebrow raised in proper Brooklyn fashion as he hands it to him. Because he’s a nice fucking person like that.

They stop one more time, the Ferris Wheel growing bigger and bigger as they make their way from building to building. It’s another stop but Bucky supposes he can deal with this one. Because this is the one with the bunnies. And he doesn’t think he’s seen anything in the world that’s cuter than Steve crouching down, speaking slowly and fondly to the fluffy bunny cradled in his arms.

If Bucky doesn’t get cavities from that fucking deep fried oreo and lemon shakeup, he definitely gets them from Steve.

It all takes a truly dumb amount of time--going from building to building--until they finally reach the entrance to the carnival section of the fair. That’s when Bucky’s excitement finally starts picking up. (And his nerves. But…)

Because even though the place looks and sounds like one of the nine levels of hell, with enough banging and grating and other unsafe, metallic sounding noises to make Bucky eye each ride with the slightest of suspicion, he’s still really fucking excited. Not even the overflowing population of screaming children, harassed parents, and carnival workers with overly plastic smiles that secretly say how dead they are inside can dissuade him from his goal.

Because there’s the Ferris Wheel. In all its glory. Yeah, Bucky’s all over that shit.

“C’mon,” he grins, not even bothering to hide his amusement as he grabs at Steve’s delicate little wrist and starts pulling them toward the large, blinking ride.

Steve, for his part, laughs along with him but pulls back just a bit. “We’ve gotta get tickets first, Buck.” He points over his shoulder at a little kiosk. “Then we can go, _promise_. As many times as you want.”

And that just sounds fan-fucking-tastic to Bucky, even if he has to wait a little longer now. Whatever deities are up there must be looking down on him tonight, because the line at the ticket machine is short, and before he knows it, they’re climbing into the little two-seated Ferris Wheel car and slowly making their ascension into the heavens.

“Ahh, fuck yes,” Bucky breathes out, eyes closing as he takes in the sensation of their steady climb.

“Should I leave you two alone the next time around?” Steve chuckles. He’s leaning against his side of the car as if he’d been looking out the window but has turned around to lift one eyebrow in Bucky’s direction.

Bucky chuckles, fingers tapping lightly on the bar above their laps. “No point in going if you’re not with me.”

Steve’s face colors beautifully and he stammers for a moment before recollecting himself to say, “Good, then we won’t waste any tickets.” And at least it’s nice to see he’s not the only one losing their finesse tonight.

Warm breeze floats against their skin, and Bucky can’t think of a time he’s been happier. Or more nervous. “ _Hopefully_ this isn’t a waste…” and he knows he’s not talking about the tickets...and he thinks Steve knows he’s not talking about the tickets either...but if this is going to happen, he has to start somewhere, right?

Steve shifts a bit in his seat, moving away from the window and turning more towards Bucky, his hands are gripping the seat between his legs like he’s ready to spring forward despite the bar keeping them in place. “Bucky?” He asks quietly, unsure for what is possibly the first time in his life.

And Bucky seriously doesn’t know how Steve does it--how he can just sit there, hair ruffled from the breeze and eyes wide, and still look so stupidly gorgeous like this.

The Ferris Wheel grinds to a halt, their car swinging lightly from the slight jerk. And Bucky isn’t sure if those are real fireworks going on over Steve’s head or if it’s just the ones that have been detonating in his chest since he saw Steve’s stupid face coming at him with a wet rag, but he’s smiling. Soft and sweet. And he doesn’t even stop himself from leaning in, way slower than really necessary, but this is all new to him and he’s nervous and he’s never had a first kiss with a punk from the country before so this is a big fucking deal.

But it’s still somehow beautiful, especially the way Steve’s eyes flutter shut, like maybe he’s just as nervous and just as ready and just as--

The car jerks forward, people from the other seats screaming as the Ferris Wheel explodes back into action with a not entirely healthy sounding grinding of gears. Bucky loses his already shaky balance, the movement causing him to nearly topple out of the seat and down to his death. He lets out a strangled yelp, terrified.

But nothing tops the incredible wave of embarrassment that comes with fucking up a first kiss in such a spectacular fashion. Bucky straightens himself back into the seat, eyes literally everywhere except on Steve, because...Jesus Christ, maybe if he just sits here and acts like nothing happened, everything will be fine.

That’s his hope at least, until Steve starts laughing next to him. It’s quiet at first, a particularly well-muffled giggle, but before long it’s escalated into a full blown cackle and Steve is doubled over in his seat with tears in the corners of his eyes. “Oh Buck, that- that was…” He has to take a moment to catch his breath. “That was something else. Thought I was going to be scraping a Bucky pancake off the ground for a second there.”

The mortification is still fresh, and seriously putting a damper on Bucky’s usually lightning-quick snark reflexes. He’s back to tapping his fingers against the metal bar across their laps, hoping it might distract from his utter embarrassment. “I meant to do that.”

Steve snorts even louder and bangs his head into Bucky’s shoulder just to keep himself partially upright. “Meant t- Yeah, yeah okay. Whatever you say.” He pulls back and shakes his head, letting out a high-pitched and entirely too-pleased sounding sigh before laughing again, “Meant to nearly fall to your death, you mean.”

The ride mercifully slows once again, this time stopping completely so they can hop off. Bucky has never moved so quickly in his entire fucking life.

“Where’s the fire, Buck?” Steve calls from behind him, still climbing off the ride and probably smiling like the smug little fucker he is.

“Just realized we forgot about the ice cream,” Bucky lies through his teeth, immediately scanning the area for where they might be able to actually get it. It doesn’t even need to be ice cream, to be honest. Hell, Bucky would stuff another deep fried oreo in his mouth if it meant not having to speak for the rest of the night.

“But that’s not until _last_. You can’t get ice cream until you’ve seen the cow barn. And you have to see the sheep before you can see the cows.”

“Augh, _Steve_ … Haven’t you seen enough animals for one night?”  He doesn’t mean for it to come out as such a petulant whine, but it does all the same.

Steve stares at him with a completely blank expression then asks, “Is that even a question?” with a voice deadpan enough to make a professional Poker player proud. And then he’s off like a rocket again, darting between the late-night crowd and shouting “Keep up!” over his shoulder without so much as looking back.

Bucky lets out a pained sigh, but quickens his pace just the same. Because yes, they’re back to the goddamn farm animals again, but it’s a great distraction from his truly stupendous blunder on the Ferris Wheel (which he’ trying really hard to forget already).

The sheep might possibly be Bucky’s second favorite animal that he’s forced to come in contact with tonight. (The first one was the bunnies because Steve + bunnies = really fucking adorable.) He’s a fan of the wooly creatures because they may be loud as hell, but the shit they say is hilarious, even if he’s the only one who thinks so.

There’s the original “BAAA”, sure. But then sprinkled in there are some other crazy ones that make Bucky think they sound like they’re screaming “HOOPLA” and/or “ALOHA” and he may be the only laughing--whipping his phone out to take a video so he can treasure this moment forever--and everyone might be staring at him with a pointed look, but he’s having the time of his life. And for once, _he’s_ the one distracted by the hilarities of the fair, and _Steve’s_ the one who’s stepping back for a second to silently admire the scene unfolding.

After an ample amount of footage has been captured with his phone, they exit the sheep pens and head toward the cows.

The cows aren’t nearly as amusing as the sheep. In fact, there’s nothing really amusing about the cows, especially since Bucky keeps slipping on piles of their shit, sliding across the floor like goddamn Tom Cruise in Risky Business.

Steve informs him, with a disappointed glance, that they just missed the milking demonstration. And it’s actually kind of a downer moment there for a second until Steve fires back up, making his way toward a particular cow and speaking kindly to it as he rubs her nose. If Bucky listens carefully enough, he would hear Steve quietly asking the cow if she remembers him from last year--that he was the one who snuck that corn in for her before the handlers caught on and shooed him away. But Bucky’s not listening. He’s too busy thinking about his next move--if he even has enough pride left to make one after his first attempt on the Ferris Wheel. He must be pondering on it too long, lost in his own thoughts, because then he’s snapping back to the feeling of Steve’s hand wrapping around his wrist and the tug that he allows to pull him out of the tent.

Getting ice cream is an adventure, the big red building standing proudly in the middle of the crowd that swarms its windows. Bucky takes one look at the mayhem and says: “Nope.”

But Steve says: “Yep.”

And then he’s being drug into the crowd, combatting sweaty people until they get their ice cream, damnit.

It’s worth it, he decides after he finishes his half, because it’s light and creamy and delicious and the look on Steve’s face as he grabs the cone from him (after being patient for so long) is truly precious.

All of that ‘precious’ goes out the window as Steve moans like a goddamn porn star right there in the middle of everything, pushing Bucky to squash down the truly filthy shit that his mind likes to come up with, whether he wants to think it or not.

But then Steve smiles at him, innocent and not at all like the Steve that Bucky is picturing in his mind, and he holds out the rest of the cone, now nibbled down to the “best part”, he tells him. And for some stupid reason, it’s like the offer equates to Steve proposing or something, because Bucky’s heart just fucking swells up like it’s going to burst if he doesn’t do something really stupid like kiss Steve right now.

He doesn’t kiss Steve.

He takes the end of the cone, a shy smile hiding the internal screaming and ridiculous filth still swimming around in his head, and finishes the bite.

They sit like that, fingers sticky from the ice cream, until Bucky notices the tiny yawn that Steve seems to be attempting to hide from him.

He fights the urge to do something else monumentally dumb, like swoop him up and carry him through the fair as it begins to wind down until they find the car.  

Instead, he nudges Steve’s shoulder, earning a sleepy little head nod, and they begin their trek to the parking lot. He cycles through his mental list of things that he wants to do but doesn’t do because suddenly he’s lost his nerve. He doesn’t reach down and hold Steve’s hand. He doesn’t offer to carry the really dumb bear that he decides to win for him on the way out. He doesn’t do any of the fucking sappy things that he so desperately wants to do.

He does, however, manage to slip on one more pile of cow shit before making it to the car.

 

\---+---


	7. Two Full Moons

 

** Chapter Six **

 

It’s the middle of the night and Steve is once again suspended higher above the ground than humans were ever intended to be. But he has a mission. And that mission involves letting a certain smart-mouthed brunet know where he can shove all of his small town misconceptions.

He could still hear that taunting voice from the morning after the fair, after Steve had asked him if he’d had fun the day before… _’It was okay. But, what do you guys really do for run around here?’_

And if that wasn’t a challenge to everything Steve stands for then he doesn’t know what is.

So here he is, hanging off the gutters of Bucky’s house and scrambling up onto the roof of the porch, slinking along the shingles like some kind of criminal until he comes to Bucky’s window. The idiot has it half open anyway, so it takes no time at all for Steve to pop out the screen and force it the rest of the way open, getting one leg inside before falling ever so gracefully the rest of the way to the floor.

Which, yeah, isn’t that just a par for the course? He doesn’t know why he seems to fall over more than usual in Bucky’s presence but it’s a habit that’s become increasingly annoying. The floorboards squeak as he makes his way over to the bed and then he looms over Bucky’s somehow still sleeping figure like he’s the grim reaper...or maybe Batman.

The radiator kicks on and Steve fidgets slightly in place. Honestly, he hadn’t really thought this far ahead (or considered this possibility, more appropriately) because he figured Bucky would, you know, _wake up_ when someone came crashing through his window.

Another look at the snoring lump beneath the covers is a testament to just how wrong that assumption was.

So, needing to wake Bucky up and not really knowing the best way to go about it, Steve decides to just be as annoying and as abrupt as possible and if he gets a fist to the nose in the process then so be it. And then he promptly launches himself onto the bed and lands square in the middle of Bucky’s chest/back/side (Steve can’t really tell which way he’s laying).

Bucky lurches awake, a primal scream erupting from deep within his chest as he sits up, hands immediately grabbing onto Steve’s arms like he’s either trying to anchor himself or push the intruder away. Steve slaps a hand over his mouth before he can wake Mrs. Barnes, or the whole _fucking town_. Because holy shit, who knew Bucky was such a screamer.

“Shhh, Bucky. It’s me.” Steve hisses.

There’s a moment there when the immediate confusion struck across Bucky’s face slowly dissolves into something that Steve can’t place. And then Bucky is _awake._ “WHAT THE FUCK,” he whispers so loudly that he might as well just be speaking at normal volume.

(Thank god Steve still has a hand over his mouth.)

“Hi,” Steve chirps back, plastering as wide a smile as he can on his face. “How are you this fine evening?” He doesn’t wait for a response before continuing, “You’re doing well? Good. So am I. Now, are you going to scream again or can I take my hand away?”

He receives a positively poisonous glare. But Bucky must decide that it’s too late for this bullshit, because he just nods without another noise.

Steve retracts his hand slowly then places it beside the other one on Bucky’s chest. He realizes belatedly that he’s kind of straddling the other boy but whatever, too late to go back now.

“Hi,” he says again.

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re in my _fucking_ \--” he stops himself, lowering his voice as Steve shoots him a look. “What the hell is your problem?”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t have a problem. Just thought you might want to join me.”

“Join you? For _what_? You’re in my fucking bed, Steve.” He may or may not shift rather uncomfortably under Steve’s weight at that observation.

Steve’s eyes widen slightly at the motion but he makes sure to keep his expression unchanged. He needs to keep the upper hand here. Which is why he decides to completely ignore the last half of what Bucky said.

“For some _fun_.” He says, then quickly extracts himself for Bucky’s personage. He heads back to the window and points his thumb outside. “Now let’s go, Wendy, to Never Never Land!”

Bucky watches Steve like he’s out of his goddamn mind. Which, Steve supposes, isn’t completely unfounded. “Where the hell are we going at…” he glances at the clock on his nightstand, “three fifteen in the fucking morning?”

_Nice try,_ Steve thinks.

“It’s a surprise!” He grins, one leg already out the window. Because like hell is he giving Bucky any hints. He wants to see the look on his face when he realizes what they’re doing, what _simple little small town Steve_ has got planned for them on this fine Tuesday morning.

Bucky groans, but is climbing out of bed anyway, smoothing his bed-hair down as he whines, “Can we at least use my front door?”

Steve considers this for a moment as he mourns the loss of Bucky’s adorable rooster-like bedhead. “Will it wake up your mom?”

Bucky chuckles like this is the most amusing question in the world. “Trust me, kid. I’ve snuck out of my house in Brooklyn more times than I can count. All without waking up my mother.” He then seems to assess the situation more clearly, adding a: “But on second thought...I’ve never had _you_ on my tail. And with you falling down all the time and everything…” he trails off, hoping Steve can fill in the blanks himself.

“I made it through your fucking window, didn’t I?” Steve shoots back. He’s not going to be condescended to again. Not this time. “Take the door if you want, I’ll be fine this way.” And then he pushes himself the rest of the way onto the roof, not even bothering to put the screen back or close the window the rest of the way behind him.

It’s a good thing too, because Bucky is swearing and sticking his head out the window with another dramatic whisper as he stares down at Steve’s retreating body. “Jesus! Be careful, will ya?”

“Go suck a lemon, Barnes.” Steve hisses back, wriggling himself off the edge of the roof and hanging onto the edge by his fingers. He gives himself just a moment before making the drop to the ground. And he lands it, surprisingly, with only a little mud on his backside to show for it. The most of which he brushes off quickly and the rest...well, it’s dark out anyway. Not like anyone’ll see.

Bucky swears, then ducks his head back through the window, leaving Steve to wait with his arms crossed and his foot tapping until Bucky reappears around the side of the house.

“Ready?” he asks, not waiting for Bucky to catch up before he’s veering off to cut through their neighbors’ backyards. The moon is a big, bright ball in the sky and it makes it easier to watch his footing as they walk along.

Bucky, though, doesn’t seem to be as lucky. And although Steve does admittedly have the advantage of having crawled this path in his youth, he still finds it really amusing.

“You keeping up okay there, Bucky?” he calls softly over his shoulder. “Need me to slow down?”

“Motherfucker…” Bucky mutters to no one in particular, stumbling and tripping and just _really_ not mastering the walk as well as Steve is. “Way too fucking dark in this fucking--AH fuck this...son of a bitch…break my fucking ankle...” It’s just a consistent string of muttered curses under his breath, which is really nothing out of the ordinary for Bucky Barnes.

“Hmmm,” Steve asks, “What were you saying there? Was that a yes to the slowing down thing?” Bucky lets out another curse and Steve can’t help but laugh to himself as he begins the sloping descent into the back field he’d always play in as a kid. But there’s something else special about this field...it has a pond in the back left corner. Beautiful and refreshing on a summer’s day.

And that’s why they’re here.

He steps over a protruding root as he approaches the outskirts of the pond, mostly hidden by cattails but Steve knows it’s there. And he just thinks to warn Bucky to watch his step when there’s another loud curse followed by Bucky nearly shouting his name.

“Yes?” Steve asks, coming to a stop and looking innocently over his shoulder. The pond is a dark shadow ahead of them, reflecting the moon and the stars. Bucky’s face, however, isn’t nearly so tranquil.

“Mind telling me what we’re risking our lives out here for?” He snaps it, clearly disheartened by the trip and his inability to dodge branches and gopher holes that are nearly invisible in this light.

Steve doesn’t say anything. Just gives him a _look._ A look that says ‘yeah, I’m out here doing something daring what the fuck do you think of small town life now, you little shit?’. And then he starts undressing.

He slips his suspenders from his shoulders then starts with his shirt, unbuttoning it like a pro and slipping it easily from his arms before folding it and setting it on the ground. Then comes his undershirt. He toes off his shoes and pulls off his socks and Bucky is still just standing there gaping like Steve’s suddenly grown two heads.

Serves him right for underestimating the rural folk.

Steve starts pulling at his pants and Bucky finally speaks, “The fuck are you doing?” But the way his voice is a little higher than normal only makes Steve that much more sure of his plan.

He’s grinning so hard his face hurts as says, “Going for a swim, of course. What else would we be doing?” And then he bends down to continue shimmying out of his pants, folding them up nicely and placing them with his shirts before turning back around.

Just in time to see Bucky’s stark naked rear end disappearing into the dark waters.

Which, okay, Steve had been planning on an actual _swim_ , like keeping their skivvies on and their decency intact. But. If that’s how Bucky wants to play it...like hell is Steve backing down now.

His boxers join the pile and then he’s splashing into the water as well, avoiding the lilypad cluster that Bucky’s already gotten himself tangled in and swimming out into deeper water.

He starts in on a backstroke and stares up at the sky, never ceasing to be amazed at how overwhelming it is. There are billions upon billions of stars up there and it makes Steve feel so tiny he can hardly breathe. He has to stop just to take it all in, ceasing all motion in order to just drift in the still water.

He hears more than sees Bucky swim up beside him and doesn’t bother to move, just stays star-fished and floating in the water, let’s Bucky come to him.

“So is this what you were talking about when you said there’s plenty to do here?” He doesn’t sound smug (well, maybe the smallest fraction still smug), but instead, his voice is smoothed out, the normal rough edges that Brooklyn must have etched there floating away with the current that their bodies are creating in the still water..

“This is what I was talking about when I said there were _fun_ things to do here.” He turns his head to look at Bucky, getting water in his ear but not really caring when he sees the way Bucky looks bathed in moonlight (still like a goddamn jerk of city-clicker, but it nearly takes Steve’s breath away). “Besides, I figured this would be more your speed. Considering you’re a delinquent and all.”

Bucky glances down at him, arms gliding through the water as he stays afloat. And just like that, his trademark smirk is back in full force.“So you’re saying that we have to be naked for me to think what we’re doing is fun?”

“I’m saying this classifies as public indecency. Therefore, breaking the law. Therefore, right up your alley.” Steve smirks back.

Bucky nods, a small amused little hum escaping him before he reaches out - one hand high on Steve’s shoulder, the other just below his hip - and gives him a steady push, propelling Steve’s body farther out into the water.

Steve lets the feeling of weightlessness envelope him and closes his eyes, focusing just on the gentle lapping of water against his skin and the sound of crickets and night bugs chirping from the surrounding grass. He feels free. And this just might be one of his new favorite things.

(God forbid his mama ever finds out.)

“You know…” Bucky starts, and when Steve opens his eyes to look at him, he’s staring up into the sky like it’s the first time he’s ever seen the stars. Maybe it is. “I guess Pikesville isn’t so awful…”

Steve’s too blissed out to bother with an eye roll. “Gee thanks.”

“Well I’m just saying. There’s some stuff I don’t mind.”

Steve sighs. “But it’s still not Brooklyn, right?” It’s not home. And that’s something Steve understands.

Bucky is still then, eyes never leaving the heavens hanging above them. Then he says, so softly that Steve almost misses it: “Yeah, obviously. But, I mean... _you’re_ not in Brooklyn… ”

And Steve feels something go tight in his chest, constricting and uncomfortable in the way it sends a rush of hot and cold and everything else zinging down his spine. He can’t manage anything more than a barely whispered, “Yeah…” and he feels like he’s ten all over again.

“But I’m in Pikesville…” Bucky drifts off again, and it’s as if he’s throwing these words out in desperation, hoping for Steve to catch onto them so he doesn’t have to finish his thoughts all by himself. “And _you’re_ in Pikesville…”

But Steve still has no idea what to say. He’s drowning as much as Bucky is but he maneuvers himself into an upright position and somehow the water has pushed them together again. He stares into Bucky’s wide eyes and can see the moon and something like fear reflected there.

The water slaps against his chest and he puts a hand on Bucky’s arm, barely there at all. “Buck?”

And it’s like, in that moment, something in the Brooklyn exterior that Bucky has built for himself fractures. It’s a fine line, barely there, but Steve can’t help but see the Bucky underneath that, trying to shout everything that must be swimming through his head.

Then something changes. A shift in the water. And Bucky shakes his head a little, glancing away. “Never--...” he starts, eyes everywhere but where Steve desperately wants them to be, “I’m being dumb. Forget I said anything.” And there’s this smile etching across his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Never mind.”

Something in Steve’s heart breaks at that and he tightens his hold on Bucky’s arms. “What if- what if I don’t want to forget it?”

Bucky’s brow furrows, and Steve is conscious enough to feel the way he pulls back from his grasp a little. “It’s dumb,” he says, dismissing it with a wave, “It’s--Steve, it’s dumb.”

“I don’t even know what it is, Buck.” Steve presses, trying to get him to just let go. Steve has a feeling he knows what it is ( _god_ he hopes he knows what it is) but he wants Bucky to say it first.

But that must not be in Bucky’s plans tonight. Because before Steve can press any further, Bucky smirks, that Brooklyn mischief building right back up as he splashes Steve with a considerably sized wave of pond water.

Steve scowls. Angry and frustrated for just a moment before he decides to hell with it, if Bucky still isn’t ready to have that discussion then so be it. But he’s got another thing coming if he thinks Steve isn’t going to take full advantage of his little ‘distraction’.

Without any warning, he pushes back and claps his arms together in a move he learned from water fights years ago, drenching Bucky in a tidal wave and laughing at the look on Bucky’s face. It’s priceless, really. Like a drowned kitten that’s just upturned its saucer in its face.

There’s no doubt in his mind that Bucky’ll retaliate with his own splash. He just doesn’t expect the way Bucky surges forward, grabbing at Steve’s wrists in the process.

But like hell is Steve having any of that. He kicks up using Bucky’s thighs (he does not smirk at the little wince on Bucky’s face, no he does not) then puts his free hand on Bucky’s shoulder leaning all of his weight down onto Bucky’s form and dunking him under the water. He pulls his other hand free while Bucky struggles and quickly paddles his way to the other side of the pond, all the while thanking the lord for the miracle of physics and what his scrawny arms are capable of in the water.

“I’ll get you for that, you fucking punk,” Bucky calls out once he surfaces, but his tone lacks all malice.

So Steve just leans back and treads in a lazy circle to shout back, “You started it, jerk!”

Bucky’s mumbling to himself again, a favorite pastime of his apparently. Then he shouts, “I’m getting pruny. This pond water is damaging my stunning complexion.”

“Is that what you call it?” Steve asks, but he’s already heading for the edge where they left their clothes.

“Yes, that’s what I call it,” Bucky answers, now waiting, halfway submerged, where the water just covers anything scandalous as he maybe watches to see if Steve is going to get out or not.

And Steve is. Bucky started this so he was damn well going to finish it. And if that meant having to look at Steve’s ass bare as the day he was born... well, that wasn’t his problem.

The air is cool on his skin and he has to suppress a shiver as he wades his way into shallow water. His feet slip slightly on the grassy bank but he finds his footing soon enough, shaking off what water he can before using his undershirt to wipe at the rest.

His boxers go on, then his pants with the suspenders dangling around his thighs, and lasty his button up is thrown loosely over his shoulders, open to the wind as he turns back around to where Bucky has just slipped his boxers into place.

Steve does in fact have the decency to avert his eyes while Bucky finishes. (It’s a near thing, but he manages.)

“You ready to go then?” he asks once Bucky’s come up beside him, a red tint to his cheeks Steve is choosing to ignore.

“Mhm,” is all Bucky has to offer, hushed and maybe a bit strangled.

Steve softens his expression and nods back the way they came. “Alright, then let’s go.”

He stays closer to Bucky on the way back than he did on the way there, lets Bucky follow in his path and makes sure he doesn’t trip over too many things. Not a word is exchanged as they make their way back to Bucky’s house and then suddenly they’re standing awkwardly on Bucky’s front porch.

“Think you can be quiet enough to get up to my room?” Bucky asks. Genuinely. It’s not even a joke.

Steve is surprised, to say the least, but tries not to let it show on his face, just nods and follows Bucky through the door.

And up the stairs.

And into his room.

So instead of standing awkwardly on Bucky’s front porch...they’re standing awkwardly beside his bed with Steve looking out the window and wondering how hard it would be to shimmy down the roof while soaking wet.

“Like hell,” Bucky scoffs, and at that moment Steve thinks maybe Bucky might be able to read his mind--a terrifying thought. “You’re not shimmying your ass down that drainpipe ever again. You hear me? You use the fucking front door like normal people.”

“I-” Steve starts, prepared to defend himself but the look on Bucky’s face stops him. It’s not condescending, it’s worried. His shoulders deflate and he looks tiredly down at the floor. “Yeah, okay.” But he doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do now. He just walked up the stairs, at Bucky’s -kind of- suggestion, so he kind of doubts Bucky’s asking him to leave now. Much as he may want to. And Steve is wondering why he thought this was a good idea in the first place. Because it’s awkward as hell and he’s never been so uncomfortable in his own skin before, not even when Johnny Blinker was calling him names and pushing him into the pavement.

“Christ,” Bucky’s mumbles again, rustling through one of the drawers in his nightstand, “Gonna give a guy a fucking heart attack.” Then he’s chucking a pair of pajama pants at Steve. And before Steve can really protest or even ask what the hell is happening, a black t-shirt is hitting his face.

“Wha?” He stutters eloquently, pulling the fabric down into his arms and staring at Bucky with what he’s sure is a completely unflattering expression.

“Not gonna sleep in wet clothes, are ya?” Bucky spells out like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Which, well, it kind of is. But Steve had been expecting to sleep in dry clothes in his own bed, not in Bucky’s dry clothes in… “Where am I sleeping?” Because as open as he is to sleeping on the floor, there really isn’t much floor space to be had with all the moving boxes still scattered around and the dust...he can only imagine how amazing it would be to wake up to an asthma attack in an unfamiliar home without his inhaler.

Bucky shrugs, like it honestly doesn’t matter to him because he’ll be getting a great night’s rest regardless. “Wherever the fuck you want to.” And then, as an afterthought, “After your little break-in tonight, it’s not like you haven’t been in my bed before.”

Steve feels himself color spectacularly at that. “Do you have a couch downstairs?” he manages to ask, holding the borrowed clothing tight to his chest and probably getting it damp and ruining its whole purpose in the process.

Bucky clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “Ahh, nope. No couches. No chairs either. Not even a dining room table.”

Steve narrows his eyes then glances to the bed pushed unassumingly against the wall. He bites his lip. “You’re sure? I can just change and go home, use the front door and everything I promise.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, squatting down to pick Steve up by the backs of his thighs and _throwing_ him down onto the creaky mattress. “Will you shut up?  Look, you’re here. There ya go.” He turns to begin changing then adds, “And change before you get under the covers.”

Steve scrambles to pull off his damp clothing and pull on the dry ones Bucky gave him, trying to finish before Bucky to avoid anymore awkward situations. He’s not usually self-conscious about his body -as soon with his mooning earlier at the pond and oh lord his mother would kill him if she ever found out- but being naked in _someone else’s bed_...well, that changes things a little.

He pauses only monetarily between pants, wondering what he’s supposed to do about his boxers before deciding to hell with it and tossing them onto the wet heap of fabric on the floor as well. He shimmies into the given pajama pants then slips on the shirt, ducking under the covers just in time for Bucky to turn around.

“Do you even know who the Stones are?” he asks, sliding into bed and under the covers like it’s not some great big deal.

Steve sneaks a peek down at his shirt then looks back to Bucky. “Um, a band?” He takes another quick look, squinting at the graphics for a bit longer before adding. “A rock band of some kind? From the...not now time period?”

Bucky chuckles, face lighting up as his head hits the pillow. “That’s adorable…”

Steve blushes again but turns away to try to hide it, sliding down so his head’s on the pillow but turned towards the wall instead of in Bucky’s direction. “Your face is adorable…” he grumbles into the wood paneling.

“Don’t start me on this, Rogers. I’ll win. Guaranteed.” He’s smirking, so obviously amused by whatever is going on in his head that Steve just has to crane his neck and look back over his shoulder with a frown.

“And why is that? I’ve beaten you plenty of times before.”

Bucky chuckles, “Because you’ve got a shit ton of adorable things that I can list. I’m just a guaranteed winner here.”

Steve doesn’t have anything to say to that so he just kind of opens and closes his mouth a few times before flopping back down onto the bed. He squishes himself into as small of a ball as possible but can still feel Bucky’s body heat radiating all up the line of his back. “Goodnight, Bucky.” He whispers, feeling his heart beating a mile a minute in his chest. His voice is shaking and he sounds like an idiot but it’s the only thing he can think to say.

“That’s right,” Bucky says with an over dramatic groan as he stretches and then turns the other way, clearly not surprised by his victory. “Sleep tight. No bed bugs and all that shit.” And then, surprisingly, he’s out like a light.

“Night, Buck.” Steve murmurs.

And then, even more surprisingly, he’s out like a light as well.

 

\---+---


	8. Suspenders Sex...It's a Thing That Should Happen

** Chapter Seven **

The following is a mental list that Bucky has compiled of things he never thought he would see when moving to a country town:

1) Deep-fried butter on a stick

2) Boars with fucking gigantic balls

3) Steve’s naked ass (no matter how startlingly beautiful and fucking perfect it may be and Jesus fucking Christ why did he have to see Steve’s ass whyyyyyy)

And yet, here he is, awake and with the knowledge of all of those things and also the fact that it’s the fucking asscrack of dawn, and Steve’s shaking him awake, this look on his face that is exclusively reserved for happiness that does not occur before 7a.m.

It is now exactly 7a.m.

They went to sleep at 5a.m.

“Bucky come _on,_ ” Steve whines again. “The sun up so we should be too.” He glances towards the door then back down to Bucky. “And your mom made pancakes, so...you really need to get up. Don’t be an asshole to your mom.”

Bucky groans unattractively, begging to God or the fucking Buddha or whatever the fuck other kind of deities there are out there for just five more minutes of sleep. “Steve…fuck.”

Steve gasps dramatically, pulling back to put a hand on his chest and somehow Bucky still manages to miss his body heat. “James Buchanan Barnes, what kind of man do you take me for?” And how the hell does Steve even know his full name? He’ll have to have words with his mother.

Bucky groans again...what the fuck is this kid even talking about… “Please, Steve. Just three more minutes. Pleeease…” He doesn’t even care that he’s resorted to begging. This is just not going to happen on his watch. “Steve…”

“Bucky…” Steve echoes, sounding entirely too unsympathetic. Then, in one horrible, tragic moment, the covers are ripped away and Steve is crawling on top of his chest again, reaching down to squish Bucky’s cheeks between his hands. “You need to get up.” He sing-songs, smug little glint to his eyes as he smoshes Bucky’s face into weird expressions not before known to man.

It’s horrible. Awful.

“Nooo…” Bucky whines, blindly reaching up and grabbing at thin air before managing to catch Steve’s wrists and pull him down against his chest. And maybe, if he were more awake, he would realize that holding onto Steve like a life-sized teddy bear isn’t the most subtle way to keep his affections from being known. But he’s not awake. He’s simultaneously clinging onto those last shreds of sleep and gripping Steve close to his chest and burying his face in his hair. Because if Bucky was still asleep--if this was a dream--they’d be cuddled up like this. “Stay,” he mumbles into Steve’s hair. And for the moment, he thinks he’s won.

Then Steve’s arms are sneaking out from where they’ve been crushed between their chests and snaking behind Bucky’s back instead, bony hands gripping at his shoulder blades and clinging hard until suddenly they’re rolling. Straight onto the floor with Steve still somehow on top of him grinning like a mad man.

“Ow…” Bucky wheezes, peeking one eye open to see Steve’s grin.

“So are you up yet?”

And then, like clockwork, Bucky realizes that yes. He’s up.

All of him.

All of him is up.

He doesn’t know if it’s whatever the hell he was dreaming about during the two hours graciously given to him, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s still got the vision of Steve’s ass branded into his memory, or maybe its the fact that Steve’s fucking _straddling him on the goddamn floor_ , but Bucky’s up. _Up_ up.

And how exactly do you ask your attractive neighbor to kindly get off of you so you don’t offend them with your awkward boner?

“Uh…” That’s not how.

Steve cocks his head to the side and looks down at Bucky curiously. “Do I need to get your mother up here to help me wake your sorry ass? Because I will if that’s what it takes.”

“Yes,” Bucky says flat out. Much too awake. “Go get her.”

Very...very..subtle. Great job, Barnes.

Steve’s eyebrows lift in surprise then a horrible kind of realization dawns in his eyes, followed by a smooth quirk of his lips. “Oh I see,” he leans forward so he’s closer to Bucky’s face but his ass is at least a little bit farther from Bucky’s _problem._ “Don’t worry, Buck. Happens to the best of us.” And then he’s slapping Bucky on the shoulder and springing to his feet, basically skipping his way out the door and down the stairs. “Don’t be too long!” He calls, sounding like a fucking chipper saint even though Bucky _knows_ he’s not.

And Bucky wants to crawl under his bed and just fucking rot away.

A few minutes later, Bucky is awake...but not _up_ …and downstairs at the table with Steve and his mother, the first looking entirely too pleased with himself and the second merrily humming away at the stove, completely unaware of the mortification that her son has just endured.

Bucky never thought eating pancakes would be cripplingly awkward, but it’s amazing what damage one poorly-timed boner can do. He eats with calculated speed, downing three before his mother has a chance to offer to make more. (He also _knows_ that Steve is going to accept her offer with that smug fucking grin on his face, just so Bucky has to suffer through more weird after-boner conversation.)

But he makes it out of there with a grin and kiss to his mother’s cheek and a “Thanks, Mama,” that he knows he’s going to get shit for later but he doesn’t particularly care about at this point.

The only thing he cares about, ten minutes into the walk that Steve initiates, is: “Where the hell are we going? Didn’t we just do this?” Because yes, they did. They _just_ took a trip into unfamiliar territory (for Bucky) last night--four hours ago to be precise.

But Steve just grins that _I know something you don’t know_ grin that he has, and all Bucky can do is fall into step behind him, silently guessing their destination with every passing minute.

It’s only after he truly starts to get a little peeved that they finally reach their journey’s apparent end: a small ranch, white fences and hay and…

“Oh fuck no…”

“What?” Steve asks innocently, walking up to the fence and petting at the pretty chestnut brown horse there like they’re long lost friends.

Because they probably fucking are.

Steve and his goddamn animals…

“Didn’t you fondle enough wildlife at the fair?” Bucky says with such exasperation that it even surprises himself.

Steve, for his part, just kind of blinks at Bucky for a moment before deciding to give him a pass on the uncalled for attitude and shrugging. “Nope.”

Augh. Great. Just wonderful. He thought they were done with this shit.

Bunnies? Okay. He can handle Steve with bunnies because again, as a recap:   
Steve + bunnies = absolutely fucking adorable

But… “Horses aren’t bunnies,” he manages to say out loud. Which is also fucking perfect because he knows how incredibly dumb that statement sounds if you aren’t listening to the dialogue going on in his head.

Which… Steve isn’t.

So he’s really not all that surprised when Steve smiles sweetly and says, “Figured that out all by yourself, did you? I’m so proud. Or did they teach you that in city school?”

Bucky doesn’t retaliate, because it’s his own fault for being a dumbass and not keeping his dumbass thoughts in his dumbass head. So instead, he simply says, “Why are we here? Seriously?”

Steve pats the horses neck and looks up at it fondly. “Mara and her friend Charlie are going to show us around some more of the ranch.”

Flashbacks of Bucky’s very first _hey you’re cute_ slip up come spiraling back to haunt him, so he figures he should be safe. “Did you name them that or is there another plaque…?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin named them.” Steve explains. “They’re the ones who own this place.”

Okay. So not Steve being cute. Well...Christ, okay Steve isn’t ever _not_ cute, just-- Jesus, what was he saying? “Alright.” Because he doesn’t remember. So that sounds like a good thing to say. And Steve doesn’t look at him like he’s just agreed to run naked through the field or something, so that’s a good sign too. And then everything sort of catches up to him in a stampede of reality. “Wait...are we riding them?”

“That would be the idea, yes.” Steve says, then leans close to Mara and stage-whispers in her ear. “He’s a little slow, this one. But he’s actually a lot nicer than he pretends to be.”

Bucky is too overcome by the fact that...they’re riding...the horses. They’re riding the fucking horses. He hasn’t even seen a horse in real life until a few nights ago at the fair, where he had so confidently stated _‘Yes, I’ve fucking seen a real horse before’_ and Steve had just kind of nodded dismissively because, yeah okay.

Well Steve was right. _Is_ right. And now he has to pull some real John Wayne kinda shit out of his ass if he’s ever going to get through this without having to hear Steve talk shit about him for probably forever.

It can’t be that hard...right?

Steve is already inside the pen, practically dragging a saddle across the ground as he clambers over to one of the horses. And if Bucky wasn’t suddenly struck by how absolutely fucking adorable Steve is - stepping up onto the little stool (that’s probably for kids) so his short little frame can reach far enough to hoist the saddle over the horse’s back - he would maybe think to help.

But then the deed is done and the horses are saddled and Steve is standing there, regarding him with this sort of expectant expression that has Bucky wondering if maybe he could pull up a quick How To Ride A Horse search on his phone while Steve’s not watching.

Except there’s no time, because then Steve is saying, “Well up you go then,” and gesturing to the horse he’s currently holding onto by the harness thing around its face.

Fuck.

Bucky steps up to the plate, exuding the fakest confidence ever in the history of fake confidence. “Thanks,” he grins tightly, taking the reigns and staring up at the saddle.

Okay. No problem.

He eyes the little foot thing, then tries to make eye contact with the horse, a sort of _Please do everything in your power to help make me look like I know what I’m doing_ , and then puts his body weight onto the foot thing and tries to hoist himself up.

But everything does not go according to plan.

The horse suddenly starts to turn towards him and he’s knocked a bit off balance, just enough that he has to take a step back to avoid face planting into the dirt and being trampled under hoof. Steve just cackles quietly beside him.

“Want some help there, cowboy?”

“Fuck off, I’m fine,” Bucky bites in a fit of wounded pride, straightening his shirt.

He tries again.

And fails again.

The horse turning the same way it did last time but even more than before, enough that he actually does kind of fall and needs to put a hand out to keep himself from landing on his ass.

“This horse is fucking broken,” he declares, every ounce of fake confidence now shredded to smithereens.

Steve shakes his head and rubs at the horse’s forehead. “No, she’s doing exactly what she’s supposed to. You’re tugging the reigns to the right so she’s turning to the right. She’s probably wondering what the hell _you’re_ doing.”

Bucky makes brisk eye contact with Barbra or whatever the fuck Steve said its name was. This is not part of their deal.

“So I’ll ask again, you want me to help? Some advice maybe, so you don’t end up in the mud?”

It pains Bucky to say it. It really does. But, contrary to popular belief, he _does_ know when to finally accept help. “Just get me up there,” he mutters, defeated. “Please and thank you.”

“Alright,” Steve steps up to the horse with a grin, right up in Bucky’s space, and places a hand on the weird little nub sticking out of the front of the saddle. “This, you’re going to put your right hand on it. Then you’re going to step into the stirrup with your right foot, push down with both points of contact and swing your left leg over. Be quick though or she’ll move on you again and you’ll lose balance.”

Bucky is doing a remarkable job at listening for how close Steve is to him--how obviously in his space he is. He’s proud of himself.

He’s even prouder when he does what he’s told, swinging his leg over and fucking _finally_ getting on top of this horse. The smile that breaks across his face is uncontainable. And he guesses that’s fine, because it rouses a pretty fantastic smile out of Steve too.

Steve steps up and rubs at the horse’s nose. “Good job,” he says. “You did great.” And somehow he feels like those words are meant more for him than the actual animal Steve’s talking to.

Which...is nice too.

To his surprise, everything goes pretty smoothly for the most part. Steve leads, the obvious veteran,  leaving Bucky to look awkward as hell in peace as this horse gallops beneath him (he’s still really fucking weirded out by the fact that there’s something living and breathing and way bigger than him moving around below him, but that story’s for another day).

Because really, and Bucky’s being painfully honest, the only thing he’s focussing on at this point is Steve.

How his body moves so smoothly with the rhythm of the horse’s gallop... It’s like fucking artwork or something. He doesn’t even know how to describe it.

And the way Steve glances back at him, grinning from ear to ear and so obviously happy and oblivious to the filth that’s slowly starting to creep its way back into Bucky’s mind.

God it’s filthy...how smooth and languid and ridiculously gracefully Steve’s body moves. There’s something way back (okay, not _that_ far back) in the corners of Bucky’s mind that can’t help but wonder if maybe that’s what Steve might look like above him, smiling down and liquid smooth and FUCK.

Okay, he can’t think about that now.

He has to keep his head in the game here. Not fall off this fucking horse and break his spine and never be able to maybe see Steve like that--open and vulnerable and riding him so majestically--

Bucky’s train of thought derails as Steve’s voice changes from that dreamlike _Jesus, Buck, you’re so--_ to the very real “What the hell, Buck, watch where you’re going, you about ran into a tree.”

Bucky snaps back into reality. Because _oh_ , that _was_ a tree that he just missed by a hair. Imagine that. “I got it,” he assures with a strained smile. “No problem.”

Except there is a problem. Because now that’s all that Bucky can think about. Steve. In compromising situations. _Positions_. He doesn’t even have to address the obvious parallels between Steve riding a horse and Steve riding his dick--

He does run into a tree this time. Well, a branch. A low hanging branch. And the horse more so kind of just trots underneath it slowly, obviously a hell of a lot smarter than Bucky.

But it hurts all the same.

“Fuck…” he hisses, bringing a hand up to his nose to check for blood and silently hoping that Steve didn’t notice .

But of course life is not so kind. “You alright there?” Steve calls back, bringing his horse around so that he can trot back to Bucky’s side.

_Yep, just daydreaming about plowing you_ is what Bucky almost has the nerve to say, but definitely checks out of at the last minute. “Fine. Got distracted.”

“I see.” Steve purses his lips and his eyes flick between Bucky’s battered face and the branch only a few feet away. He grins knowingly. “Hit a branch, did you?”

“I think that’s pretty fucking obvious, don’t you?” And yeah, there’s the tiniest bit of blood dripping from his nose now. Perfect.

Steve sighs like a mother tired of explaining the obvious. “You’ve got to pay attention. Mara will keep you from running into things she can see, but she can’t do everything. That’s what you’re there for.”

And God, it would be so goddamn easy to just look at Steve and yell _THEN STOP BEING SO FUCKING ATTRACTIVE_ , but again...there’s a time and a place, and on top of a horse with a nosebleed is neither. “I think maybe I’m done with the horses for a little bit…”

Their horses whinny and paw at the ground as Steve studies him quietly for a moment. “Alright,” he finally says, “We can head back, but hand me your reigns first.” He nudges his horse closer with some magical thigh movement (that Bucky is absolutely positive could be put to much better use) and then he’s within arms reach and waiting for Bucky to do something.

Which was...right...the reigns.

He doesn’t have the strength to be insulted, just hands them over dejectedly and waits to be led back to the pen.

Magically, the bleeding stops.

Not so magically, his active imagination does not.

Especially when Steve decides to climb down off the horse like a fucking diva, ass sticking out in the open and just waiting for someone to stare at. Or...you know...touch or whatever.

And...has Steve _always_ worn those suspenders? Because god damn… He’s dead certain he didn’t have a thing for suspenders until Steve Fucking Rogers. And now it’s a glaring issue.

Because holy crap, could you imagine Steve in those things without his shirt on? Because Bucky can. He’s doing it right now.

Even as they walk and Steve turns around to say--Bucky doesn’t fucking know. Know why? Because he’s too busy thinking about him shirtless, those suspenders clinging to the skin just outside his nipples, the way Steve’s face probably reddens perfectly when Bucky gives it a good snap against his skin. Mhm. That’s the fucking stuff right there.

“You did pretty well for a first timer.” Steve says, completely oblivious. “Sure you were on the easiest horse to ride on the ranch, possibly the planet, and you still managed to hit a branch. But I’m proud of you, Buck. Gold star.”

And Bucky just kind of smiles, happy that the managed to not only ride a horse for the first time with minimum damage, but also get some quality daydreaming in without popping another awkward boner in front of Steve.

One awkward boner per day is enough.

And then of course, because fate really is cruel, he steps in another pile of horse shit.

And Steve just looks at him, smug and adorable and all-knowing.

(But maybe not _all-_ knowing. Because he doubts Steve knows about the internal struggle that Bucky’s having right now about whether he should smack him or kiss him.)

He does neither.

He simply walks behind Steve and keeps imagining that suspenders scenario instead.


	9. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens

 

** Chapter Eight **

 

“Can you believe how tall the corn has gotten?” Steve asks. He’s sitting in one of the worn wooden chairs in Bucky’s kitchen and the fields are just visible out the window. “It was practically freshly planted when you first got here. Just starting to sprout.”

Bucky muses, leaning back in his chair. “Yep. Now it’s taller than you,” and he adds a teasing: “...which isn’t exactly a miracle or anything..”

Before, a comment like that would’ve bothered him, but now it’s just another part of the banter between him and Bucky that he’s come to depend upon like breathing. “Yeah, well, better hope it doesn’t get bigger than you too, then we’d all be in trouble.”

“Or we could enter it in the state fair and win a tractor or some shit…”

Steve rolls his eyes good naturedly and can’t help the smile from breaking out across his face. “You don’t win tractors, Buck. Money maybe. A ribbon. And you really wouldn’t get much for having the tallest corn stalk.”

Bucky doesn’t seem convinced. “Because…?”

“Because it’s not nearly as much fun to look at a dried up corn plant as it is to look at a giant boar.” He grins mischievously in Bucky’s direction.

That’s got Bucky caught between a snort of a laugh and a reminiscent grimace. “God...really, Steve? I _just_ stopped thinking about that.”

Steve knows he did. He knows _exactly_ what he’s doing and he’s loving every minute of it. He’s just about to make some crude comment about Bucky thinking about pig balls in the first place, but then Mrs. Barnes comes into the room and Steve bites back the remark in exchange for a disarming and completely innocent smile. Bucky kicks him underneath the table. Steve elbows his side.

And that’s pretty much how dinner goes.

Steve continues to act like the angel he is in front of Mrs. Barnes but behind the scenes he’s making faces that have Bucky snorting his milk and punching him in the arm.

“Don’t be mean to Steve, dear.” Mrs. Barnes says.

“But Steve started it,” Bucky whines back.

And Steve just sits there pleased as punch because he’s won yet another of their impromptu battles.

It’s amazing, really, how quickly Steve’s become accustomed to what he and Bucky have together. Easy conversation, a spark and a fire between them that comes out as sharp words and teasing smiles. To an outside eye they may seem as unmatched as the day they met, but all of their jagged edges had fallen together like the pieces of a puzzle.

So of course it’s in that moment, as Steve is thinking about how great it is to have Bucky around, that Mrs. Barnes puts down her fork and says, “I have some lovely news for you, dear.”

Bucky is only half-listening, it seems, by the way he continues his mouthful and hums, “Hm?”

And at first Steve doesn’t think anything of it either, because good news is usually anything from a new polo shirt to finally getting the kitchen sink drain working properly again.

“Your cousin called today, wanted to talk to you but you and Steve were out by the pond.” She helps herself to another serving of mashed potatoes and then continues. “Apparently she’s looking for a roommate. Her old one just wasn’t working out or something.”

At that, Steve starts to listen closer.

Bucky finally looks up from his plate as well, “Cousin as in cousin Hannah?”

Mrs. Barnes nods, “She was wondering if you might go live with her--fill that open bedroom.”

Bucky gets this odd look on his face and Steve feels something funny start coiling around in his chest. This news doesn’t sound like anything good at all.

“You mean...go back to Brooklyn?”

“Yes, dear. I’m saying you have the opportunity to go back to Brooklyn.” She spells out, seemingly uncertain of why this news isn’t cause for Bucky to leap out of his chair with joy.

And Steve’s whole world shatters right then and there, the mosaic of SteveandBucky, BuckyandSteve cracking apart at the seams.

“Oh,” is what Bucky says. It’s not a yes. But it’s definitely not a no either.

And Mrs. Barnes still looks a bit confused, like this isn’t the reaction she had been expecting when receiving the news in the first place.  “You’d said that you weren’t feeling quite at home in Pikesville. I thought this would sound like a blessing to you.”

She seems to finally realize that Steve is still sitting there, and turns to him to say, “And Steve could come visit you, of course. Wouldn’t you, Steve?”

Steve barely musters some kind of response but it must work, because she’s changing her focus and looking down at his plate instead. “Oh my, you’ve already eaten all your peas. Would you like some more?”

“Uh, no, I- I’m fine. Thanks though.”

His mind fades out to a fuzzy crackle, like a TV flipped to the wrong channel, and he barely hears the rest of their conversation. Something about Bucky’s grandma coming tomorrow, packing, and _“I know it’s kind of short notice, sweetie. But we all just thought you’d jump at the chance.’_

And Steve thinks of his inhaler a few houses down, wishing it was here because suddenly it’s that much harder to breathe.

Because Bucky _can’t_ leave. He’s Steve’s partner in crime, his best friend, his...well. He’s his best friend and Steve refuses to believe they only get one summer together before fate decides to tear the whole thing down.

But it’s not like there’s much he can do. He wants Bucky to be happy, after all, and if moving back to Brooklyn is what makes him happiest then...Steve really has no place meddling in that. At the very least, he just wishes he could have the chance to say a proper goodbye. There are so many things they haven’t said yet, so many things Bucky hasn’t seen.

Like the way the trees look burning bright with fall colors and framing the fields. Or how winter’s first snow blankets the town and makes everything infinitely softer, quieter, like a whole different world. He hasn’t seen the Thanksgiving potluck or the Christmas lights in the road. He hasn’t seen the little kids running around for Halloween or Easter.

Steve hasn’t even been able to show him all of his favorite things.

There’s still one thing left on the list, something he’d been saving for...well, for a better time. But it looks like he’s out of chances. It’s become a now or never kind of event.

He supposes a goodbye is a good enough reason to go. Thankfully, the sky is clear and it hasn’t rained in a while so nothing should be slick.

Their plates now cleared, Steve’s still staring at the floral print tablecloth in front of him, unable to stop Mrs. Barnes’ words from replaying over and over again in his head despite the plans forming in his head.

_You have the opportunity to go back to Brooklyn._

And Bucky’s response...or, more accurately, lack thereof, has a hollow pit placed firmly in the center of Steve’s chest, open and painful and it feels kind of like the world is collapsing in on that one fixed point. It’s getting worse by the second.

“Hey.” Bucky says, pulling him from his thoughts. “You alright, bud?”

“Yeah um, you got plans for tonight?” And of course he doesn’t fucking have plans. No one in this town fucking has plans. Especially Bucky. The only person he really hangs out with is Steve and well, Steve knows for a fact they don’t have plans.

“I dunno, do we?” Bucky smiles, but it’s not even halfway sincere. More of a ghost of what would have been there, had it not been for the bomb dropped at dinner.

Steve swallows down all of the things he wants to say, all of the questions and (god forbid) _pleas,_ and gives Bucky a barely-there smile of his own. “We do now. Something I want to show you.”

Bucky studies him carefully, something that Steve’s not exactly up for at this moment. But then Bucky nods, and says, “Okay.”

And before Steve really knows what’s happening they’re off, his body moving on auto-pilot as they push away from the table, say their goodbyes to Mrs. Barnes, and head out the door. He feels like he’s floating, almost, but not in the weightless kind of way that he’d felt in the pond, but in a cold, detached way that makes him want to just drag Bucky close and never let him go. But he really needs to stop thinking that like.

Because Bucky’s leaving.

He’s going to have to let him go.

“So,” Bucky laughs with little mirth, “Do I get to know where we’re going this time? Or is this like the skinny dipping thing again...”

Steve smiles woodenly at the memory. But they are, in fact, headed in that direction. “It’s a surprise.” Steve answers, the words bitter in his mouth. “So I guess you’ll be getting two surprises today.”

Bucky doesn’t laugh. Or smile. Or offer a sarcastic comment. He just follows Steve, one step behind him. Like always.

And god is Steve going to miss that. To think he’d ever known a time without Bucky’s easy companionship...to think they’d only been friends for a single summer...it’s enough to numb Steve’s mind.

He’d survived without Bucky up until the point he’d come crashing into his life, he could do it again. He would survive.

But, surviving wasn’t always the same as living.

And now he’s being overly dramatic, great.

Fortunately, they’ve made it to the little hill with the barn on top that Steve had been aiming for and he begins their ascent, focusing on not slipping on any mole hills instead of all the thoughts spiraling around in his head.

Bucky is eerily silent beside him and it makes Steve that much more upset.

They apparently only have one night left together and it’s already being ruined by the phantom threat of what’s to come.

And like hell is he going to let that fly. Forcing a smile, he turns to Bucky and walks backwards for a bit, trying to seem as cheery and obnoxious as usual. “Figured out the surprise yet?”

The smile transfers, floating in the empty space between them. “Are we seeing more horses? Because you remember how well that worked out last time.”

Steve shakes his head. “No horses. There is a barn involved though.”

“Oh fuck, is it bunnies?” And there’s this sudden spark of true excitement flashing across his face that Steve doesn’t particularly understand, but appreciates just the same.

“No bunnies either, I’m afraid.” He says, wishing for all the world that he did have some of the fluffy creatures when he sees the way Bucky’s face falls. “But there will be climbing…”

Bucky stares at him, the metaphorical wheels turning in his head. “Climbing…” he repeats, eyes narrowing just the slightest bit as he seems to work it out for himself in his brain. “Are we climbing up the barn? ‘Cause that sounds kinda dangerous for someone of your...stature…”

Something in his chest rekindles at the concern, but dies out just as quickly. “Not climbing up the barn, climbing _in_ the barn. Up to the hay loft and then to the roof.”

“S’what I meant,” Bucky insists, although Steve is no longer under any illusions after spending so much time with him and becoming accustomed to that special tone of voice Bucky uses when lying through his teeth.

Steve pushes aside the heavy wooden doors just enough for them to slip inside. The interior is dark and dusty, evening light coming in through window panes and illuminating little dust motes floating in the air. The ladder to the loft is to their right and Steve moves towards it quickly, knowing he shouldn’t dawdle lest he ruin their evening with a poorly timed medical emergency.

“You wanna go first?” he stops to ask.

“Can’t catch you if I go first,” Bucky reasons.

And Steve can’t help the blush that fills his cheeks or the little thump his heart gives, but he _can_ berate himself for them afterwards. The words mean nothing now. Bucky’s leaving. And the sooner Steve accepts that fact the better off he’ll be. So he just says, “Alright,” and hoists himself up the first few rungs, thinking back to irate cats and bumped heads and the fateful day that started it all. It’s poetic, really. (Maybe he should fall on the way back down just so they come full circle.)

The loft is somehow even dustier than the ground level and Steve’s chest starts to constrict as he makes his way back to the trap door leading up to the roof. His eyes sting a little too.

But it’s just the dust.

Bucky comes up behind him when they reach the opening and then his chest his pressed up along Steve’s back, leaving him frozen as Bucky reaches up and undoes the lock, pushes the wooden panel up until it bangs open onto the roof. And Steve could’ve done that himself but he’s not in the mood to give Bucky crap about it tonight.

He doesn’t say a word as he leads the way out onto the slanting roof, careful of his footing before he spreads out beneath the stars. People always say he’s small and sure he knows he’s not exactly a _giant_ but nothing ever makes him feel as miniscule as when he’s looking up at the galaxies.

Right now, he wishes he really was as miniscule as he feels. Because if he was an ant or an amoeba he wouldn’t have to worry about things like being left behind.

But as Bucky spreads out beside him Steve is at least glad that he can send him off with this. This last piece of himself. Because if Bucky’s going to break his heart, Steve’s at least going to make sure he does it properly.

“Is this really what you wanted me up here for?” Bucky speaks, and when he does, it shatters the silence and every wall of defense that Steve had built himself on the way here.

“This is my last favorite thing,” Steve explains quietly. “I’ve shown you all the rest. I thought it’d be a shame if you left without completing the collection.”

Bucky glances over him at for a moment, almost like he’s waiting for something else, but then nods, turning his attention back to the stars with a nostalgic sigh. “Kinda reminds me of the pond.”

The Pond, also known as the The Place of Unfinished Promises. Of words not quite whispered into the moonlit darkness because they were both too scared to finally make them real. And maybe now was the time to finally tie off those loose ends, to shut the book on what could’ve been.

“You’re not going to be in Pikesville anymore.” He whispers, like it’s some kind of secret and not a fact they both already know. “But I am.” He swallows and speaks again before Bucky has the chance to, “Can I say something dumb?”

Bucky’s eyes never leave him. Not once. And when he speaks, it’s impossibly fragile. “Please say something dumb.”

“Don’t leave me.”

The words fall into the space between them like water droplet in a pond, creating a splash and then rippling out into nothing.

Steve can feel his heart hammering in his chest and he looks up to the sky for reassurance, can’t quite bring himself to look at Bucky’s face. He knows he’s just asked for the impossible. For Bucky to choose between Brooklyn, his home, and Steve, some punkass little guy from a small town in the middle of nowhere who Bucky never expected to come into his life.

Then Bucky says something he doesn’t expect. It’s not _I have to_ or _Let it go_ or something dramatic like that. No. It’s: “Why?”

_Because I love you, you fucking jerk._

“Because I-”

But he _can’t_. He just can’t bring himself to say it. Not when he knows there’s no hope of anything on the other side.

Bucky waits, _waits_ , and then there’s this sudden urgency that surges through him and his voice is strong again but still somehow so so fragile and, “Tell me _why_.”

“Because I fucking love you, okay?” Steve says, voice choked with something that most definitely isn’t tears. (Because he’s professing his love beneath the stars and having tear tracks on his cheeks just wouldn’t do.) “I love you and you’re going to leave me here alone.”

Bucky’s brow furrows, “Steve,” he says, and then he’s reaching out and Steve can’t deny the tears rolling down his face anymore if Bucky is brushing his thumb across his cheek and wiping them away with a certain concern that only brings on more. “Steve, I’m not going to fucking Brooklyn.”

And Steve’s entire world stops spinning, grinds to a screeching halt like that stupid Ferris Wheel all those weeks ago. “What?” He asks, voice wavering. Because he couldn’t have just heard--

“I’m not going back to Brooklyn, Steve.”

“You’re...not?” And he really isn’t sure what’s real anymore. If maybe he didn’t just pass out on the Barnes’ dinner table and this has all been some kind of strange fever dream.

But Bucky’s right there, right in his space. “Fuck no. Why would I go to Brooklyn if you’re in Pikesville?”

“Because you _love_ Brooklyn,” Steve explains. And really, Bucky should know this. Steve should not have to be telling him. “You never shut up about it.”

Bucky scowls for a moment, then he says, “You’re really gonna make me say it aren’t you?” But before Steve can even answer, Bucky’s leaning down, lips just barely brushing against Steve’s ear as he whispers - like it’s their secret - like no one else on the whole entire planetgetsto know. “I love Brooklyn. You’re right. But I love you more.”

And then he pulls back, just far enough to meet Steve’s eyes before pressing forward. And this time, they actually make it all the way, Bucky’s lips sealing over Steve’s in something like a promise. And it says more than _I love you, punk_. It says _I’m not leaving._ And Steve smiles into Bucky’s mouth before pulling away to ask, “Are you going to run off again this time? Or was that different because you nearly fell to your doom?”

Bucky just smiles, “Not running anywhere. You’re stuck with my sorry ass.”

“Well darn,” Steve murmurs, hands fisting in Bucky’s shirt and pulling him back over his chest, warm and solid and _here._ “Wonder how you’ll survive, what with there nothing fun to do around here and all.” Their mouths are mere centimeters apart by the end of it and he can’t help the smirk on his lips.

And oh, that pointed grin that dances across Bucky’s mouth is deadly, even more so now that Steve can practically taste it. “Just found my favorite thing to do right here.”

“So I’m a thing, am I?” Steve teases, light-headed and giddy with the feeling of Bucky all around him.

Bucky grins, “You said it, not me,” and then steals another kiss before Steve can protest.

Which is fine, since Steve didn’t really have much to say anyway, and when Bucky goes to lean away again Steve doesn’t let him, wraps both arms around his neck and pulls him down (or tries to anyway-- his back comes off the roof a bit before Bucky gets the hint and lowers down onto his forearms).

“Fucking jerk,” Steve laughs into Bucky’s mouth, not even caring that his shirt’s ridden up and there’s something digging into his spine. Because as far as he’s concerned, this moment is perfect. It’s anything and everything Steve could’ve asked for all at once.

Bucky seems to think so too, a pleased hum escaping him as he slips a finger under one of Steve’s suspenders and snaps it against his chest.

Steve squeaks at the feeling then moans slightly into Bucky’s open lips.

He’s just found a new favorite thing.

 

\---+---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you've liked the series so far! And there's definitely much more to come^^
> 
> Find us on tumblr: [itsmylifekay](itsmylifekay.tumblr.com) and [whatthebodygraspsnot](whatthebodygraspsnot.tumblr.com)
> 
> Sneak peak, title of the next part of the series: Nature Gave the Cornfields, but, c'mon…Fucking Brooklyn Man


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